


A Way to Ignite

by theauthorish



Series: Constellation Boys [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Constellations, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthorish/pseuds/theauthorish
Summary: There were five meteor showers-- one from each of the famous constellations. But even more unusual than the simultaneous occurrence of all five showers was the fact that, when they were over, the constellations were gone.It was as if they had never existed--As if when the meteors fell, the constellations too came tumbling down to Earth.





	1. The First Knight

**Author's Note:**

> A NOTE ON THIS AU!!! PLEASE READ FIRST!
> 
> There are a few things in this AU that I won't be explicitly stating for various reasons, ranging from the POVs I’ll be using to simply the fact that certain things aren't really relevant to the main plot, but one of the biggest things you need to know about this AU is that in this universe, the greek gods and goddesses are revered WORLDWIDE, not just in Greece. This does not mean I’ll be erasing Japan’s (or any) culture; each country still has their own beliefs and faiths and deities, but the Greek gods and goddesses are often worshipped alongside them in this fic, though again, not everyone does. As time went on and the gods and goddesses stopped interacting with humanity as much, though, the religion faded somewhat, so it isn't as prominent in the present as it was in some of the characters’ memories. 
> 
> In other news, Cas is my absolutely brilliant   
> plot-partner who helped me keep this understandable and realistic, so they def deserve all the love ♡♡♡ Thanks also to the discord peeps for putting up with my random spamming and giving me second opinions! Special thanks to BritKee on discord too, for helping me proof this and reassuring me about the flow of it as a whole ♡♡♡ you can find her on tumblr as bmarvels, so you all should def send her some appreciation too!
> 
> Anyway, that's it, enjoy the story!

There were five constellations famous all over the world. Their names and stories changed with the culture, and their locations changed with the seasons-- but no matter where one heard about them, their titles remained exactly the same. 

 

The First Knight. The Feline. The Midnight Hunter (also sometimes called The Owl). The Sentry. The Proud Warrior.

 

These constellations were known for their startling clarity, especially in recent years. They shone so bright it looked like the stars that formed them hung just a breath past Earth’s atmosphere, if not within it. They were beautiful, and the tales behind them were just as entrancing, inspiring art, music, novels, poetry… even science. 

 

And then the meteor showers occurred. There were five-- one from each of the famous constellations. But even more unusual than the simultaneous occurrence of all five showers was the fact that, when they were over, the constellations were gone. 

 

It was as if they had never existed--

 

As if when the meteors fell, the constellations too came tumbling down to Earth.

 

/////

 

_ Hajime had never realized how heavy his armor was, until he felt servants releasing the clasps that held it to his body. Piece by piece, the metal plates clanged to the floor, and by the time he was left in nothing but his undergarments, Hajime felt like he could jump 10 feet in the air-- he felt that much lighter. _

 

_ Suddenly, before him stood Zeus, as if he had been there the whole while. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he said, and his voice rumbled like thunder down to Hajime’s very core, shooting lightning down his spine with the power thrumming through it. _

 

_ “Yes, my god?” _

 

_ “You were imprisoned in the stars for defying my daughter, Athena, goddess of wisdom. You were sentenced to be our knight, to fight off the beasts and demons that threaten the heavens and the earth below it, until such time that we had no need of you,” Zeus continued. This was true. Hajime had never forgotten this, not even in all his years and centuries battling off nightmares, not even when he was near death, saved only by the gods and goddesses who had sent him off to fight in the first place. But that didn't explain why he had been summoned here today, nor why Zeus was telling him all this. _

 

_ Hajime had been summoned before. Sometimes to have his injuries tended, or else his armor and weapon maintained. Sometimes because he had a specific mission to complete, or because the gods saw fit to warn him about new creatures he would face. But in none of those times had the details of his punishment been brought up. Which meant this was new territory.  _

 

_ Hajime didn't particularly like new territory. _

 

_ “Today, we have found that we no longer have need of you,” Zeus said.  _

 

_ Beneath Hajime’s feet, the ground tilted. And then vanished. “I-- what?” He was floating, somehow. Nothing was as he knew it. None of it made sense-- they didn't need him? Which meant… he was free? After all this time? Finally free? _

 

_ Zeus’ mouth curled in an infinitesimal smile. “You are being freed, Iwaizumi Hajime.” _

 

_ And for the first time in centuries, Hajime trembled. He didn't know why he was shaking; he had faced all sorts of monsters, borne all manner of injuries, and had never faltered, never even thought to quiver. He had only faced them with grim determination. And yet, somehow, he was being given exactly what he'd longed for since his sentence was first handed down, and he was like a branch in a storm.  _

 

_ He couldn't speak, couldn't form words. He wanted to-- he wanted to say thank you. He wanted to ask why now? He wanted to ask what he was supposed to do, or where he would go. But he couldn't. His voice wouldn't cooperate, lodging in his throat.  _

 

_ “Have you nothing to say, child?” Zeus prompted, not unkindly. “This will likely be our last meeting.” _

 

_ Hajime took a deep breath in. Let it out. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke: “This is… Do you mean it, my god?” He couldn't quite believe it. After all this time? _

 

_ “We are not so cruel that we would lie about this.” _

 

_ Slowly, Hajime felt himself grow steady again. This wasn't a lie. It wouldn't be ripped away from him. He was free. “Thank you, my god.” _

 

_ Zeus nodded. “Hand me your weapon, First Knight.” _

 

_ Hajime bent to pick up his sword, holding it across his palms and presenting it to the god before him. Zeus took its handle in one hand, the sheath in the other. He pulled the blade free, and Hajime eyed it as it glinted in the light. Even though it was splattered in grime, it was still a sight to behold. Its blade was a gorgeous burnished silver where it was clean of gore, and even caked in blood, the inscription was clear. ‘Someone who can't see the opponent standing right in front of him, can't defeat the opponent that lies beyond’ it read, and it had kept Hajime going all these years, had helped him focus on defending humanity instead of stewing in hatred and sorrow and regret. Its hilt was gold, forged to look like creeping vines, its leaves set with diamonds that refracted the light like little stars. Hajime had always wondered why the gods had gifted him such a beautiful weapon. Surely, he didn't need anything so luxurious to serve them? _

 

_ Perhaps, they considered it a mercy, a blessing. That he might have the honor of holding such an elegant thing. Maybe it had simply been lying around. Here in the heavens, what riches would they lack?  _

 

_ “This sword has served you well, hasn't it, Knight?” Zeus asked, examining it with an idle sort of interest. _

 

_ “It has,” Hajime agreed easily. That too, was true. It had been his companion all this time, an extension of himself as he fought. It had saved his life and ended others, spilt blood both foreign and his own. And through all that, it had rarely ever needed tending. It had dulled so slowly, almost as if it were as hesitant as he to abandon his post.  _

 

_ It was a bittersweet thing to let it go, somehow. It had always been a symbol of the price of his defiance, but at the same time, it had been his protection all this time. It had been such an integral part of his being for so long… _

 

_ “Today, it will serve you for the last time,” the god intoned. “Today, this blade will sever the chains that hold you to this realm. Today, this sword sends you home.” _

 

_ Hajime looked his god in the eyes and nodded in understanding. At a gesture from Zeus, he fell onto one knee, raising his head to maintain eye contact. _

 

_ “When your chains have been cut, you will fall, free of your bonds to this world of the gods. It will not be an easy journey; it will burn, and though you will not be harmed-- this I guarantee-- you will feel the pain all the same.” So saying, the god raised the sword above his head. “There will be no help waiting for you, Iwaizumi Hajime. Beyond this moment, the gods can do nothing more for you, nor for any of humanity. Do you have any last requests?” _

 

_ Hajime considered that for a long moment. Did he? He would never again speak to the gods, never receive their aid, though he would never doubt their existence. But… _

 

_ “Not a request, my god. But may I ask-- how did my sister fare?” _

 

_ Zeus granted him a full smile at this, one that was almost fatherly in its warmth. “Ah, there it is. I had been waiting for you to ask after her-- she is the reason you angered a goddess even at risk of your life, is she not?”  _

 

_ He lowered the sword and waved a hand in a summoning gesture. Immediately, a servant appeared, carrying a shallow water basin and a cloth. Zeus handed him the blade, and the boy wiped it clean of filth. _

 

_ “She remains one of my daughter's handmaidens. Though it's true, she is not the girl you knew, once. She is much more demure, patient… but she has not lost her fire. I believe it is this that has made her a favorite of Athena.” Zeus paused to let the information sink in. “She misses you dearly, Hajime. She asks after you every day, I’ve been told.” _

 

_ “She… She’s alive?” _

 

_ “She is.” _

 

_ Hajime didn't know what to think. All this time… he had grieved for her. He had grieved! And she was… she was alive. “How?” he croaked out, though he already knew. _

 

_ Zeus obliged him with an answer anyway. “Athena offered to release her from her service when the promised 10 years were done-- if she had accepted, she would have passed by now, as I'm sure you must have thought she did. She asked to stay instead. As such, she has remained young and healthy, bound willingly to my daughter's side.” _

 

_ “May I… My god, may I see her,  _ please _?” _

 

_ “I cannot call her here, child. I’m sorry. She is not mine to command.” And the god did look sorry, his expression gentle as he bent to be at eye level with Hajime. “But I do believe there is a way I can let you see her-- though she will not see you in return.” _

 

_ Hajime didn't know what to say. That in itself was more than he ever thought he would get; he’d expected no more than a passing sentence to sum up her whole life-- one he’d thought had ended long ago. And here was the very head of the gods, offering him a chance to glimpse her face again, to see his sister grown up without him, to see her happy one more time… _

 

_ Unbidden, tears sprang to his eyes, and Hajime ducked his face to hide it from his god. Zeus smiled. “It is natural to be emotional, Iwaizumi Hajime. There is no need to hide yourself.” _

 

_ He held out a hand, and the servant presented him once more with the blade, now clean and gleaming. He held it out between himself and Hajime. “Look closely now.”  _

 

_ The reflection of the temple roof rippled, and then vanished entirely. Instead, Hajime saw a young woman, smiling as she sat at a loom and wove. “Azami…” He lifted one hand, almost as if he meant to reach out to her-- and left it hovering. He couldn't, of course. It was only an image on his sword, not a portal. _

 

_ He sighed. “She’s grown so lovely,” he mused. As he watched, she stood to stretch, and Hajime noticed a tapestry on the wall, depicting-- _

 

_ “Is that me?” _

 

_ It was. There stood his figure as his constellation painted him, hands firm on the hilt of his sword, standing straight and tall and proud. Before him sprawled an inky darkness, inchoate shapes fading in and out of visibility-- tentacles and furred limbs and razor claws-- but there was no fear in his eyes, no hesitancy in his stance. _

 

_ “As I said, child: she thinks of you often. That was one of the first of her tapestries, I believe. She has done others, but many involve you, somehow.” _

 

_ Hajime continued to look on in awe. Azami crossed to the very tapestry he was admiring, fingers tracing across the outline of his jaw, his armor, his weapon. Her lips formed words he couldn't hear, but he knew by heart. “Someone who can't see the opponent standing right in front of him, can't defeat the opponent that lies beyond,” he breathed. The engraving of his sword. _

 

_ Zeus watched him in silence for a moment. “My daughter tells me she repeats these words often,” he said finally. “When she gets frustrated with her weaving, when she faces unkind beings who think to belittle her for her humanity. Small or big, when she faces hardship, she thinks of these-- and in so doing, she thinks of  _ you _.” _

 

_ The image faded out, and Hajime stood stock still, unsure whether to cry or smile or both. His sister was well. His sister was alive. His sister missed him, even though it was his own fault she had been left alone, even though he no longer knew her but for her name and her appearance. _

 

_ “Thank you,” he whispered, so soft that even he almost did not hear it. But Zeus nodded all the same. _

 

_ “You are very welcome.” The god stood, drawing himself to his full height. Before him, Hajime remained on one knee. “Are you ready to go, Iwaizumi Hajime?” _

 

_ And this time, there was no pause nor consideration. “I am, my god.” _

 

_ Zeus raised the sword and then brought it down. _

 

/////

 

There was something about falling that Hajime almost found poetic. There was a feeling of weightlessness, freedom-- of watching the ground coming into clearer and clearer focus, and then upon landing, there was pain, but also relief.

 

Pain from the impact. Relief because it was over; because there was no more uncertainty, no more emptiness-- just solid ground to anchor yourself to, and the ache of your body screaming you were alive.

 

Or at least, that's what he had thought, at first. Now, he wasn't so sure he’d landed at all. Everything felt like it was moving too fast around him. The blurs of the lights and the streams of people rushing across the streets…

 

“Iwa-chan, are you getting moody again?”

 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Hajime sighed, turning away from the window to focus on the man sitting across him.

 

Oikawa gasped in mock surprise. “Iwa-chan isn't growling like an animal? Wow, you're worse than moody. I don't think I’ve heard your non-growly voice in the whole time you’ve been staying with me--  _ ouch _ , Iwa-chan you brute!” With a pout, he cradled his hand-- which Hajime had given a good smack, since the bastard’s head was out of reach for the moment-- to his chest.

 

They were sitting in a McDonald's booth, a tray laden with greasy fast food between them. Hajime didn't quite understand the appeal, other than not having to cook-- which wasn't much of a hassle to begin with. The food was entirely too oily, and really, he could make better shit if he tried… well, he  _ would _ be able to, once he got used to all the modern stoves and stuff.

 

He shot Oikawa a glare, cautiously picking up a fry and popping it into his mouth. He wrinkled his nose, but picked up another one anyway.

 

“Why do you eat it if you don't like it?” Oikawa asked, and Hajime was thankful he didn't push the topic. He knew, of course, that his host hadn't forgotten it, and wouldn't even if Hajime did everything in his power to distract him. Oikawa's stubbornness and refusal to ever forget anything about other people was something Hajime had learned early on in their acquaintance. But at the very least, he didn't bother him about it, and that was alright for now.

 

“You paid for it, and it's edible… probably. So like it or not, I'm not letting it go to waste.” As if to prove his point, Hajime picked up another fry. 

 

Oikawa smiled airily, and Hajime bristled in preparation for a backhanded insult. “Ah, who knew even a crude Neanderthal like you could be so considerate?” And… there it was. As expected. Hajime was coming to understand that that smile always signalled no good.

 

“Motherfucker--”

 

Oikawa’s smile softened then, becoming far more genuine. “You really don't have to, you know. I appreciate the sentiment, but you don't need to force yourself. I can easily finish this myself.” He sniffed. “Even if it is way more carbs than I should be having.”

 

Hajime raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to keep eating it then?” 

 

“I just said you didn't have to!”

 

“And then you complained! Make up your mind, would you?!”

 

Before they could start bickering in earnest, Oikawa’s-- their? Were they Hajime’s friends too?-- friends slid into the booth-- well, two of them did: Yaku and Sugawara. Bokuto and Kenma were nowhere to be seen, and the other ‘starboys’, as they’d been dubbed, weren't present either. 

 

“Are you two arguing again?” Yaku sighed, sounding every bit the disappointed parent.

 

“No!” Oikawa said, recoiling with a hand over his heart as if he was deeply wounded. “I can't believe you would accuse me of such a thing, I’ve been nothing but nice to Iwa-chan--”

 

“That’s a lie,” Hajime cut in. Beside him, Sugawara snickered.

 

“Suga-chan! You're supposed to take my side!” 

 

Even Yaku cracked a smile at that. “Unless you're wrong. Which you are.”

 

“How do you know!?” Oikawa’s tone of deep betrayal was laced with amusement that even Hajime picked up on, but he kept up the act. “You weren't even there!”

 

“I trust Iwaizumi more than I trust you. He strikes me as more dependable.” Yaku deadpanned, as he tossed a fry into his mouth.

 

“Mean, Yakkun! You’ve known him two weeks, and you pick him over me? Who you’ve known since high school? Who you roomed with last year? How cruel!” Oikawa fluttered one hand to his forehead in a dramatic show, looking off somewhere into the distance.

 

Instead of encouraging any further overreaction, Hajime turned to face Sugawara. “Where are the others?”

 

Sugawara smiled. “Bokuto took Akaashi and Kuroo with him to help carry the food. Daichi’s just using the restroom. Kenma’s still got a class.” He paused for a moment to pull out his phone and check something. “He should be out soon though,” he said, as he tucked it away again.

 

“Don't ignore me!” Oikawa squawked from his seat. They did exactly that, much to his dismay.

 

“How has the arrangement been so far? Has Oikawa been a bother?” Sugawara asked him, and Hajime couldn't help grinning as Oikawa complained some more about his friends’ treatment of him. 

 

“Not really. I used to have a sister. I’m used to babysitting.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Hajime stiffened. He hoped no one asked about Azami; he wasn't quite ready to talk about her, and honestly, he didn't know what it meant that he had briefly felt okay enough to mention her in passing just now. 

 

Thankfully, no one said anything. Sugawara and Yaku both cracked up, and even Oikawa grinned, despite being the butt of the joke. (This, too, Hajime knew was only a facade for Oikawa. The man was too sharp to have missed the tension coiled in his posture, and besides, Hajime had mentioned Azami around him once before, when they first met. This instance would be filed away with all the others, something for Oikawa to dissect and reevaluate as he tried to figure out how to make Hajime tick.) “Well, if you're done insulting me,” Oikawa cut in. “Iwa-chan and I have been getting along just fine, thanks. Also, I do hope you realize our group simply  _ won't _ fit in this one booth.” He gestured at the table before him as if to emphasize his point.

 

Yaku raised an eyebrow at him. “Do we look stupid, Oikawa? We’ll have Bokuto move those tables over here.” He pointed at the ones beside them, two small tables and four seats-- not quite enough if Kenma would be joining them, but Hajime expected he would just pull out another chair when he got here.

 

“Yakkun, you really shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to!”

 

“What did you say, you--” 

 

“Hey, wait a second, where’s that tall kid? Lev, right?” Hajime asked, as it hit him that he wasn't here, nor had his absence been explained. 

 

“Ah, Lev? He’s sitting in on Kenma’s class. He was curious,” Yaku explained, releasing Oikawa's collar (which he’d been using to angrily shake the setter). Oikawa pouted, fretting with the fabric as he tried to straighten out the wrinkles Yaku had left in it. “Speaking of which, did you think about it? Did you want to pursue any studies?”

 

A week after they’d settled in, Yaku had presented the starboys with an offer. His mother was a teacher for cram school and could let them sit in on the different classes; when they were ready, they could take some exams and claim to be homeschooled so they could then enroll in one of the local colleges. Akaashi had accepted right off the bat, Hajime knew. From what the boy had told them of his past, he had been a scholar, so that made sense. Kuroo, too, had accepted, though he had thought on it for a while before making his decision. He, Lev, and Sawamura were yet to make a decision, though Hajime was leaning towards declining.

 

“No, not yet,” he said. “I’m sorry to make you wait for my choice, it's just something I want to consider well first.”

 

Yaku smiled. “No problem. Mom said the offer is open, anyway. Feel free to consider it as long as you need.”

 

Oikawa hummed, sipping at his soda. “By the way, what did you tell your mom about all this--” he waved a hand vaguely, as if to encompass the starboys, the McDonalds they were in, and the situation itself. “--anyway?”

 

“The truth? What else?” Yaku faced Oikawa with an expression that said it should have been obvious. “I still had the camera footage to prove it, and besides, I’d never been fond of pretend or tall tales. She believed me, though it took a little convincing.”

 

“Wow, really? Your mom's pretty great, huh? Very open-minded,” Sugawara said, reaching over to take some fries from the tray on the table. 

 

“Yeah, Yakkun,” Oikawa piped up, and Hajime heard the very real warmth in it-- but he scowled as The Smile made yet another appearance. “She must be an angel to put up with someone like you!”

 

“You really are a terrible person,” Hajime grunted, as Yaku did what he couldn't and whacked the back of Oikawa's head. No one paid his exaggerated whimper any mind.

 

“Oh man, you got Yakkun mad at you again, Oikawa?” Bokuto laughed, setting down his tray and moving to tug the aforementioned tables closer.

 

“You’d think he’d have learned by now,” Kuroo remarked, placing his own tray beside Bokuto’s and helping to move the chairs. “I mean, even  _ I  _ get that it's a bad idea to piss off Yakkun, and I haven't known him as long.” Smirking, Kuroo moved the tray to the group’s newly claimed table. Bokuto's tray quickly followed suit. Akaashi set down his own burden, though he didn't make any comment as the others had.

 

Sawamura arrived then, bearing his own tray full of sodas. “Sorry I took so long. I ran into them on the way back and figured they could use some help. Took me a while to balance out the cups so nothing would tip over though.”

 

Sugawara waved it off. “It’s fine, Daichi. You can handle yourself, you don't need to report everything,” he said, eyes twinkling with laughter. He nudged Hajime a bit, signalling him to make room. He did, and Sugawara followed, patting the newly opened space beside him.

 

Sawamura flushed, chuckling softly. “Right. Sorry.” He slid in next to Sugawara, and while Hajime found the fit a little tight, it was manageable.

 

Soon enough, everyone else had settled into their own seats, and conversation continued to flow as easily as it usually did. It was odd, Hajime thought, drifting off now that it seemed his participation wasn't as necessary. He had only known everyone here for two weeks, and already there was a ‘usual’. It felt almost like he'd known them all his whole life. Not completely; there was plenty he had yet to learn about everyone. But he felt at ease with them. Like he maybe belonged. And that felt…

 

Strange. Almost wrong. Shouldn't he be struggling more, to find his way in the world? Just on the other side of the glass, everyone was in such a rush, like the city itself was urging them to  _ hurryhurryhurry _ . But here, in this space, surrounded by these people he’d known for only so long… he didn't feel the push at all. He felt like he was floating. Weightless.

 

Still falling.

 

Which meant he was still waiting for the pain of hitting the earth. The wake up call that would rip all this stillness away from him.

 

“I- wa- chan!” Oikawa sang, tapping his nose.

 

Hajime jerked back, forehead wrinkling. “Don't fucking do that,” he snapped, as the other chuckled lightly at his expense. “What?”

 

“You're all far away again, is all,” Oikawa said. “Why don't you talk to everyone some more?”

 

For a moment, Hajime simply held eye contact with him. Then he grunted, “Fine. What did I miss?”

 

“We were teasing Yakkun about his crush on little Simba-chan!”

 

“It is not a crush! For the last fucking time, you piece of shit.” Yaku punctuated the statement with what Hajime assumed was a punch to Oikawa’s gut, if the way he doubled over with a whine was any indication.

 

“Denial is such an ugly thing, Yakkun! The first step is always acceptance!” He wheezed.

 

“Really, Yakkun, just resign yourself to your fate. For the past two minutes all you said was, ‘Lev this, Lev that’.” Kuroo said, wearing his typical catlike grin.

 

“I did-- That's not--!” Yaku looked to Hajime, as if for help.

 

Hajime held up his hands. “Sorry, I was a little lost in thought. Didn't hear the conversation earlier.”

 

Yaku turned to Sugawara next. But instead of saving him, he only smiled apologetically. (Semi-apologetically, actually; there was a glint in his eyes that mirrored the one in Oikawa’s-- Hajime understood now why Yaku and Kenma had stated the two should never be roommates. He could only imagine what sort of antics the two would get up to.) “Sorry, Yaku. But you really did.”

 

Yaku’s face turned about as red as the little cardboard container for the fries. Hajime felt bad for him, really. “Sawamura? Bokuto?”

 

The two shook their heads, one looking sympathetic, the other gleeful. 

 

“Akaashi?”

 

At the sound of his name, Akaashi set down his (second) burger. “Yes, Yaku-san, I’m afraid it's true,” he said, polite as he always was the rare times he spoke.

 

With a groan, Yaku hid his face in his hands. “It’s only because he's such a  _ pain _ , okay? It's not a  _ crush _ .”

 

“What's not a crush?”

 

Yaku yelped as the very object of his supposed affections appeared, leaning over the back of the booth curiously. “Nothing-- why the  _ fuck  _ are you eavesdropping? And why the hell are you just standing there? Sit down already. Where’s Kenma?”

 

“Here.” Kenma dragged the nearest empty chair over and plopped down on it, never once raising his head from his PSP. This was a sight Hajime was getting used to; it seemed that his gadget made him much more comfortable around the others, although at first he hadn't been around as often-- and even when he had been, he hadn't talked much aside from one-word answers when asked a question. Hajime had a feeling it had to do with the sudden doubling of the members in the group; that would make anyone nervous, really.

 

“How was class, Kenma?” Hajime asked-- Oikawa wanted him to interact, fine. There.

 

“Okay. The professor was boring, but the subject was pretty interesting.”

 

Lev piped up, “Really? I couldn't understand what he was saying--”

 

“Because it was computer science,” Kenma murmured,  _ just  _ on the right side of audible. “You didn't even know what a computer was until two weeks ago.”

 

“Yeah, but--”

 

“No.” As if to further discourage Lev from picking up the conversation, the background music of Kenma’s game got subtly louder. Hajime almost laughed out loud at that.

 

Hajime gave Lev a wry smile. “Why did you even go to a class you wouldn't understand, kid?”

 

“I wouldn't understand anything in any class-- isn't that the point of classes? To teach me what I don't get?” Lev responded, eyes wide and innocent.

 

Hajime blinked. He actually…

 

“Simba-chan has a point!” Bokuto laughed, and Oikawa looked slightly smug that someone else had adopted the nickname. Hajime hoped no one else ever started using Iwa-chan; Oikawa would be insufferable then.

 

“Why Simba-chan? I'm Lev. It's not even close to Simba!”

 

“I think it comes from a movie,” Akaashi explained. “If Bokuto-san’s rambling is anything to go on.”

 

Lev frowned. “But what does that have to do with me?”

 

“You said your name meant lion, didn't you? Simba is a lion. A little over-excited lion. Like you,” Oikawa told him. “Isn't it genius?”

 

“Not really,” Kenma muttered. Hajime snickered.

 

“I’m not little though?” Lev protested, before Oikawa could make some snide reply. “Kenma-san and Yaku-san are but I-- ack!”

 

There was a collective wince at the sheer volume of the crack of Lev’s head being slammed into the table. 

 

“Yaku-saaaaan, that hurt!” Lev complained, voice muffled by the table. He didn't lift his head, but it was enough that it shook everyone out of their stunned silence.

 

“That’s what you get! I keep telling you to stop calling me small!” Yaku fumed. Hajime could tell he was faltering, though, and he assumed the others could too. There was just a hint of guilt in his eyes, and his hands were twitching, as if he were trying not to reach out to the taller boy.

 

Kuroo let out a low whistle. “Brutal, Yakkun. So violent.”

 

“Shut up.” Yaku threw a fry at his smarmy grin, watching him wrinkle up his face in disgust.

 

Sawamura said something to Sugawara about ice, pushing himself to his feet and heading in the direction of the counter. He returned a minute later with a paper cup full of it, as well as a small rag. “I borrowed this,” he explained, holding up the scrap of fabric. “So we have to return it later. But for now…” he trailed off, picking out a few ice cubes and tying them up with the cloth to form a makeshift ice pack. “Here.”

 

Sighing, Yaku took it and nudged Lev gently. “Come on, Lev, you gotta raise your head for me.” Lev hesitated. When he did as he was told, Yaku brought the ice up to the red spot that marked where his head had been hit, pressing firmly. Lev flinched a bit at the cold, but dutifully held still as Yaku clicked his tongue and fussed to himself. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn't mean to hit you that hard,” he said quietly.

 

“It’s okay, Yaku-san! Sorry I called you--” He stopped short (incidentally, that was probably what he meant to say) at the scowl he received. “--er. Uh. You know.” A slow red crept across his cheeks, and he shot Yaku a shy smile. 

 

It was, admittedly, rather cute, Hajime thought-- he could see Yaku melt just a little at the sight, see how fond he was already of this tall, hyper oaf. It definitely seemed like a crush. Maybe Oikawa wasn't that mistaken after all.

 

As if he could read Hajime’s mind, Oikawa met his gaze and waggled his eyebrows, smirking.  _ Told you so, _ he mouthed. 

 

Hajime narrowed his eyes in warning. He’d better not ruin this moment for them--

 

“Not--” Of course he would.

 

Before he could get another syllable out, Hajime kicked Oikawa under the table. Hard. (He was careful, of course, to avoid his injured leg; he wasn't a dick.)

 

“Ouch! Iwa-chan, so rude!”

 

“Oops. Sorry. Didn't mean to,” he said, as flatly as he could manage. Fucking asshole deserved it, really.

 

“ _ Lies _ ,” Oikawa hissed, ducking down to rub at the sore spot. “I’ll probably bruise now! You're such a bully, Iwa-chan.”

 

Hajime just rolled his eyes. Why was this guy so dramatic? “And you're a needy dick, what else is new, Shittykawa?”

 

“Excuse you?” Oikawa spluttered, putting on his best affronted expression. “I have never been, and never will be, a  _ needy dick _ , Iwa-chan, how dare you imply--”

 

Sugawara, hearing that last bit, grinned wickedly. “Ah, but you certainly have one, don't you?” His eyes flicked to Hajime, who raised his eyebrows, then back to Oikawa, who was steadily growing redder. “Weren't you just texting me the other night about how you would--”

 

“AGH!!!  _ Suga-chan _ ! You promised to keep it secret! And if you tell, maybe  _ I’ll  _ tell about how you said you wouldn't mind--”

 

“Shut up!”

 

Hajime made eye contact with Sawamura. Sawamura nodded at him. Right. 1. 2. 3--

 

Hajime lunged across the table to smack a hand over Oikawa’s mouth, and Sawamura immediately moved to cover Sugawara’s, holding him in a headlock. Around them, the rest of the group kept up their own conversations, barely sparing the incident a glance.

 

Really, how on earth was all this considered  _ normal _ by Hajime’s standards already?

 

“Would you  _ please _ behave like the mature adults you claim to be? Honestly I feel like a babysitter half the time you two are together,” Sawamura sighed.

 

“Ooooh! Bringing out the disappointed dad voice, Sawamura?” Bokuto called from the other end of the table.

 

“Oya, oya? What happened now? Misbehaving again?” Kuroo chimed in.

 

Sugawara managed to wriggle free of Sawamura’s grip just then, and before Hajime could warn him, Sugawara smirked and said, “Oh, definitely… I think daddy might need to punish me.” He waggled his eyebrows up at Sawamura, ignoring the two idiots cackling off to the side in favor of trailing his fingers teasingly down Sawamura’s arm.

 

It was, it seemed, Sawamura’s turn to blush a ridiculous shade of red, and Hajime felt a little bit guilty at failing to prevent the whole thing.

 

“Damn it, Suga.” Sawamura buried his face in his hands, and Hajime patted his shoulder consolingly. Oikawa used that distraction to drag Hajime’s hand away from his mouth, laughingly applauding Sugawara for his wit.

 

“Anyway, this has been fun, but Iwa-chan and I are going shopping now, so excuse me!” Oikawa flapped a hand at Yaku until he and Lev slid out of the booth.

 

Hajime pinched the bridge of his nose. Fucking… “Excuse me.”

 

Sugawara and Sawamura stood so Hajime could catch up with the  _ absolute bastard _ who wasn't even waiting for him. As he passed, he heard Kenma mumble, “Oikawa doesn't even have a good sense for fashion though…”

 

Just great.

 

/////

 

“What were you thinking about, Iwa-chan?”

 

Hajime fought back a sigh. He knew Oikawa wouldn't let it go, but he didn't expect to be interrogated so soon. They’d barely made it 10 feet from the McDonalds. “I was thinking that you should've left Yaku and Lev to their little moment. Quit meddling with their relationship.”

 

Oikawa waved a hand in dismissal. “Ah, it's fine. Just a little push. They're both dense like Iwa-chan, so they should be thanking me!” That said, Oikawa met Hajime’s gaze, sobering back up in a second. The look in his eyes… It almost gave Hajime shivers, it was so intense. It almost felt like Oikawa could see right through him, read every thought in his mind like it was plastered on his forehead. He tore his eyes away, focusing his vision on the asphalt beneath his feet instead. “And  _ you _ are trying to dodge the question. You know what I meant, Iwa-chan, and you know just as well as I do that I don't plan on letting you off the hook so easily.”

 

Hajime did sigh, this time. “It’s… It was nothing important, all right? Same stuff as always.”

 

Oikawa quirked up a brow. “You mean feeling out of place? Whatever for?”

 

The conversation petered out as they reached the train station, Hajime closely following Oikawa’s lead so as not to get lost in the crowd. He still didn't understand all this stuff, and if he lost Oikawa, he'd have to head back to the McDonalds or wait at the entrance and hope Oikawa noticed he was missing. Like a little kid. Ugh.

 

Oikawa got them their tickets and led the way towards the correct waiting area, hands stuffed in his pockets in apparent nonchalance. But even then, Hajime could practically feel the gears in his brain turning, see him go over everything he’d done since they left the dorm room. “Stop thinking so hard, idiot,” he grumbled, hoping to distract him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

 

Oikawa only shot him an amused glance. “Ah, maybe a brainless bully like you would, but I won't! I appreciate the concern though!” 

 

Hajime glared. “Just drop it, Oikawa.”

 

“Drop what?” He responded, because he was playing dumb now. Bastard. Fucking…

 

“You're a real asshole, you know that?”

 

“Takes one to know one, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa replied, sing-song. “But really, you might as well tell me what's bothering you. I’ll figure it out soon enough.” He said it with a put-on air of haughtiness, even tilting his head up slightly to literally look down his nose at Hajime, and while there was laughter in his voice and a smile twitching at his lips, Hajime knew that for all his joking, Oikawa meant what he said. He would put the pieces together in time, would understand what Hajime was so bothered about.

 

Hajime wasn't really looking forward to that, but if he was willing to let go of the conversation for now, well, Hajime wouldn't complain.

 

The train arrived, and Oikawa waited for a decent number of people to disembark before tugging Hajime’s sleeve, dragging him into the people-packed metal tube that passed for transportation these days. Hajime stumbled after him, knocking into too many elbows and bags and probably jabbing his own limbs into other people by mistake, cursing the crowd vehemently in his mind. He hated this thing.

 

As it started moving, though, he had to admit, it made travel a hell of a lot faster.

 

… Which, coincidentally did not help him to feel any more grounded into this age, what with his thoughts on the whole world-rushing-by-him front, but.

 

Averting his vision from the windows, Hajime found himself under Oikawa’s scrutiny, the taller man eyeing him with an intensity that almost had Hajime reeling back. Seeing Hajime watching him back, Oikawa flashed a small grin. “What are you thinking, Iwa-chan?”

 

_ That you should stop asking me that _ . “That Kenma’s right. You don't look like you have much of a fashion sense.”

 

“Rude!”

 

Hajime chuckled to himself, and at the sound, Oikawa let his mock-anger fade into a small laugh of his own. “Maybe I should just read your mind. You never want to answer me when I ask about your thoughts.”

 

“Like hell you can do that,” Hajime said. “You aren't some oracle or anything. And maybe you should just stop asking. You know. Like a normal person.”

 

Oikawa’s smile took on a small edge. Was he… taking this as a challenge? What the fuck, why? What was so interesting about Hajime that Oikawa didn't already know? His existential crisis could hardly be so riveting a tale, right? “Ah, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, I might not be all magical, but I can too read your mind!”

 

Hajime simply stared in disbelief. “Sure.” Oikawa gave him a  _ look _ , one that Hajime knew meant that even if he didn't humor him, Oikawa would make whatever joke he wanted to make anyway, so he might as well. Letting out yet another sigh in so many minutes, Hajime said, “Fine. What am I thinking then.”

 

Oikawa hummed, eyes fluttering closed as he supposedly read Hajime’s thoughts. He maintained the expression for a few seconds, then gasped suddenly, opening them once more. He looked troubled, almost afraid-- in the most over-the-top, most unnecessary portrayal of concern Hajime had ever had the misfortune to see. Which only meant one thing. “Iwa-chan has nothing to read! He really is a brainless savage!” Oikawa wailed.

 

There it was. And this time, Hajime could finally hit the back of the fucker’s head properly. “Trashykawa, I swear to all the gods, I will end you.”

 

Oikawa giggled, flashing a peace sign at him even as he raised his other hand to cover the spot Hajime had hit. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist!” 

 

Before Hajime could snap at him in response, a speaker overhead announced their arrival at the first stop. Oikawa declared that this was where they needed to get off, grabbing Hajime’s wrist and shouldering his way towards the doors.

 

Hajime could only hope he wouldn't suffer too much. Shopping could hardly be that bad, right?

 

/////

 

Wrong.

 

They had been to five stores already, and so far, only bought a handful of clothes. Barely enough to last Hajime a week.

 

“Oh! This place has some great button-ups, I get mine here all the time! They're good quality and have such nice colors and patterns too,” Oikawa exclaimed.

 

Six. They had now been to six stores. “We had better actually get some clothes here, Shittykawa,” Hajime grumbled, though he followed all the same.

 

Oikawa simply said, “It’s not my fault the last places didn't have anything that suited you. You aren't blessed like I am, to look good in everything. Besides! That one place that did have stuff for you was expensive!”

 

Hajime sighed. The cost thing was true. He wasn't entirely certain he trusted Oikawa on the what-suited-him bit, but he didn't really have much choice in the matter, considering it  _ was _ Oikawa paying for everything. Hajime did need to wonder where Oikawa got the money at all-- from what he could tell, schooling was expensive, and Hajime hadn't seen anything indicative of the other man having a job, but…

 

He was probably as tired of borrowing Oikawa’s clothes (his pants were too long and his shirts too tight around the sleeves) as Oikawa probably was of lending them. 

 

A cheery attendant greeted them on their entry, and Oikawa smiled his ‘charming’ smile and explained what they were looking for. She led them to the correct aisle, chattering away about some promotions and other things they might want (there were some very flattering jeans for sale two aisles down that would fit Hajime perfectly, it seemed). Oikawa humored her with that same smile, either oblivious or (most likely) uncaring for the blush staining her cheeks, or the excessive batting of her eyelashes.

 

“If you need anything, feel free to ask me! I’m Yuuko!”

 

“We’ll be sure to do that, thanks so much Yuuko-chan,” Oikawa assured her, practically oozing charisma. Hajime fought the urge to roll his eyes.

 

Once she was out of earshot, Hajime said, “Really?”

 

“What's the matter, Iwa-chan? Jealous she didn't notice you?”

 

Hajime snorted. “Hardly.”

 

“If you say so,” Oikawa replied, a teasing lilt to his voice as he scanned through the racks. He picked out a few pieces-- sometimes handing them to Hajime to hold, sometimes putting them back, sometimes glancing back and forth between the cloth and Hajime before making a decision. “That should be enough for now.”

 

Hajime had in his arms a pile of maybe ten items. This had  _ better _ be it for now. He said as much, though Oikawa didn't pay it any mind, choosing instead to shoo him towards the fitting room. “I’ll be right outside if you need any help, Iwa-chan!”

 

Hajime suspected that by ‘outside’ Oikawa actually meant flirting with that saleslady, but whatever. That wasn't his problem, really, though he felt a little bad for the girl Oikawa would be leading on.

 

Hajime pulled off his shirt by the collar, eyes lingering for a moment on the scars that littered his skin. His arms, his chest, his back; certainly, he had less than he should have had, really, considering how long he had been the gods’ knight, how many horrible creatures he had fought. But still, it was ugly. His skin was a patchwork of angry red splotches from burns, jagged lines a shade lighter than the rest of him, even a bite mark down by his hip. 

 

He really didn't belong here in this world, much less doing something as mundane as trying on clothes to buy. 

 

From outside, he heard Oikawa’s musical (but fake) laugh, followed by a titter from the girl from earlier. Right. Someone was waiting for him, as odd as it was.

 

Hajime unbuttoned the first shirt, pulling it on over his shoulders-- and found it lacking. Literally. It didn't fit. 

 

As if on cue, Oikawa called, “Iwa-chan, why are you taking so long? Did you forget how buttons work?”

 

“Shut up, Trashykawa,” he growled back. “This one is too small.”

 

“ _ Everything  _ is too small for your monstrous brute arms, Iwa-chan! You're probably exaggerating, let me see.” 

 

Hajime huffed. The damn thing wouldn't even close! It was  _ definitely  _ too fucking small. Before he could voice that objection though, the door to the fitting room started rattling, Oikawa’s taunting floating in from the other side.

 

_ For Zeus’ sake-- _

 

Hajime flicked the lock and yanked the door open-- maybe a little harsher than necessary. “Fucking. Fine! Zeus, when I said it's too small, I meant it's  _ too small _ , Shittykawa.”

 

Oikawa was gaping. Hajime didn't really comprehend why, it wasn't like the man hadn't seen him near naked before, especially right after his fall back to Earth. The saleslady was too, actually, but that… Hajime sort of understood her. He doubted it was within her job description to help almost-shirtless customers. After a beat, the girl-- Yuuko, right-- rushed off, mumbling something about fetching him the proper size, flushing the deepest shade of red she had yet. (Hajime absolutely did not feel a little bit smug at that, nope.)

 

“Crappykawa.”

 

Nothing. No response.

 

“Oikawa.”

 

Just another slow blink, a small twitch of his hands (that Hajime refused to think on).

 

Hajime heaved a deep exhale. “ _ Oikawa. _ ”

 

He just. Kept staring. At this point, Hajime was feeling more than a little self-conscious. He knew he was fit, obviously. It was inevitable, given what he had done, how he’d fought. But the scars… the unevenness of his skin, the sheer visibility of his body when for so long it had been buried beneath armor majority of the time…

 

All that under Oikawa’s heavy, piercing gaze… it was too much.

 

Hajime clocked the back of Oikawa’s head, then. It was the first thing he thought of that would just get him to  _ stop _ . “ _ Ouch!  _ So mean, Iwa-chan!” 

 

It did work, even if that meant more of Oikawa's whines about him being so violent and rude, and really, he should be  _ flattered _ \--

 

Hajime waited for a question. A statement. A mention of the flaws that marred his body.

 

Nothing came. Nothing but Yuuko, rushing back with the same shirt in what Hajime assumed was a better size for him. “The pattern looks like it’ll look very good on you, Iwaizumi-san,” she said, having collected herself once more in her absence, it seemed. Hajime was impressed she’d remembered his name after Oikawa mentioned it only once, too. “Hopefully this one will fit better. If not, I brought the next size up as well.” She held up a plastic package in her other hand.

 

“Thank you, Yuuko-san,” he said, smiling warmly at her. Her face gained a little color again, but she smiled back as he took the shirt from her, heading once more into the fitting room. 

 

Once he’d hung the first shirt and slipped on the new one, he had to admit that Yuuko was right. Oikawa had actually chosen well. The white fabric contrasted nicely with his darker skin, and the printed blue and red anchors added a nice touch of color that was fun, but still sophisticated. It was simple, really.

 

He liked it. He’d expected he wouldn't, what with it being white and all, and therefore possibly see-through, but it wasn't. Oikawa really hadn't been lying about the quality then. 

 

He opened the door and stepped out, feeling faintly shy. “I like it,” he admitted.

 

Yuuko nodded. “It suits you!”

 

Oikawa nodded his head, looking smug as he ran a hand through his hair. “As I thought! And you said I didn't have good taste.”

 

Hajime rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. “I didn't say that, technically. It was Kenma. But okay, sure. Congratulations, I guess. I’ll just try on the other ones.”

 

In the end, they bought half of the shirts Oikawa had picked out for him, as well as two more that Yuuko had suggested. They bought some of the jeans, too, and even a set of pajamas. Speaking of which, Hajime realized majority of what they’d bought were for outings. 

 

When he pointed it out, Oikawa only said, “It’s fine. I can lend you pajamas, I have more than enough of those. It's the stuff for being out in public you need your own of. Besides, there are cheaper places to get sleepwear anyway.”

 

“All right,” Hajime answered. And that was that.

 

They walked slowly back to the station, trading banter and conversation like old friends. It was odd. Amazing, but odd. It made Hajime feel warm and satisfied, and that didn't make sense. How could he feel that already? And what was that nagging feeling beneath the happiness, the little tug on his gut? It wasn't shock or puzzlement, he knew. That, he recognized. This was something else… Hajime would almost think it was guilt, but for what?

 

As they waited for the train that would take them home, Oikawa spoke up. “What are you thinking, Iwa-chan?” he asked, soft and tentative.

 

_ How does he always know? _

 

“I’m thinking that for all the time we spent out, we should have bought more clothes,” he muttered. “We’ve been out since the afternoon, and now it's dark. This is all we have?” He lifted up the paper bags hanging off his arms.

 

“Ungrateful!” Oikawa laughed, clearly entertained despite his words. “Just for that, I won't buy you dinner!”

 

Hajime shrugged. “I could always hunt my own, you know. I used to do it all the time.” He pretended to contemplate it for a few seconds, forcing himself to maintain a straight face. “One of the trees outside your dorm looked like it would have good wood for a bow and some arrows.”

 

Oikawa looked scandalized. “You are not-- you can't just--  _ cut up a tree _ \--” he stammered, flailing his hands. His lips pursed in a legitimate pout; it was maybe sort of cute, in an objective way, but gods above forbid Oikawa ever learned Hajime thought so. “You’re joking, right?” 

 

Oh shit, he actually believed he would.

 

… Not that he wouldn't, but only if he really had no choice.

 

Hajime managed not to burst out cackling for exactly two seconds, and then it spilled out of him like a wave, forcing him to bend over double and clutch at his stomach. “The look on your face!”

 

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa tossed his head, feigning offense. “You’re such a savage, it sounds like something you would do!”

 

Hajime shook his head, mouth still stretched into a grin. “Sure, Oikawa.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s a wrap for the first chapter!!! What did you all think? Next it's time to take a look at Kuroo, his past and his present, and maybe a glimpse the other ships through his eyes as well. In case you missed my very heavy hints, there will be some angst in this fic, but also a lottt of fluff in between. I hope I can do it well and that you’ll enjoy it!!!
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, Oikawa totally texted Sugawara furiously while Iwa changed into the bigger shirt, bc damn if he wasn't thirsty after that.)


	2. The Feline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN IMPORTANT NOTE: As you all already know, I'm basing quite a bit of this story on Greek mythology and civilization. Ofc, the traditional Japanese culture exists!!! (Again, no cultural erasure no sir) But, for this particular chapter, as you’ll realize, Kuroo is a soldier. Because this story relies on the Greek gods for punishment, the army Kuroo serves is one modeled after Greek armies, with a general who honors the Greek gods and goddesses. As such, I meant to pull the soldier ranks from Ancient Greek terms-- but realized that would be confusing. Instead, I have used the more modern equivalents (thanks wikipedia) such as general and colonel, rather than the actual Greek terms. Thanks for understanding and I hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> In other news, please give my friend socksaregoodshit all the love for helping me with Kuroo!!! She helped me a lot with figuring out how to portray his PTSD and flashbacks, and you should def check her out here on ao3 and on tumblr. Thanks to BritKee for her help proofing and giving first impressions! ♡♡♡

_ Tetsurou was loyal to his general for many reasons, the foremost being his concern for his soldiers-- no matter their rank, General Tanahashi Hiromoto valued each life as much as he valued his own. That above all else pushed Tetsurou to serve him to the best of his abilities, even beyond call of duty. _

 

_ Now, Tetsurou understood that this mentality could not extend entirely to the enemy; you could hardly subdue an opposing army without killing someone, if they refused to negotiate (and they had). But… he had thought better of General Tanahashi than this. _

 

_ He was outside the general’s tent, come to report their injuries and losses, as was one of his myriad duties. Less officially, he was here to extend an invitation from the soldiers to join them as they drank and sang in celebration of their recent victory. _

 

_ Behind him, someone struck up something faintly resembling a tune, and the warbling, drunken voices of his comrades rose and fell, looking for notes they couldn't seem to find as they sang words Tetsurou couldn't quite make out from this distance. Even if he could have made them out, though, he doubted he would have paid enough attention to comprehend them. All he could hear was General Tanahashi, saying, “The prisoners, we sacrifice to Ares in a week-- we do it before the victory feast.” _

 

_ Sacrifice?  _

 

_ These were people just the same as the general and Tetsurou. Sure, they had been enemies, but they were just men, following orders same as Tetsurou had. They had surrendered already! Why kill them? These men had families they’d fought to protect. A home they’d wanted to flourish. Lovers and children and future prospects-- Tetsurou had those. The general had those. Every soldier in this army had those. The difference was victory. This army could go back to all that, claim their virtues were the right ones. These prisoners could not. They would be slaves… or, they would have been. Was it not enough to do that to them? Did they need to be murdered to appease a god no one knew for sure existed? _

 

_ It was wrong. It was inhumane. _

 

_ It was  _ wrong.

 

_ There was an affirmative noise, followed by a few more instructions from the general on preparations to be made and such. Tetsurou forced himself to swallow down the bile rising up his throat so he could listen, take careful note of everything the general said. He would need to know everything he could if he planned to put a stop to this. _

 

_ A few minutes later, he heard the other soldier leave through the other end of the tent. Tetsurou took a steadying breath. In. Out. _

 

_ He could do this. He steeled his expression and took a few steps closer to the flap of the tent, clearing his throat. “Permission to enter, general?” _

 

_ “Granted.” _

 

_ Tetsurou nodded to himself and swept the fabric aside so he could duck through the entrance. _

 

_ “Ah, Colonel Kuroo. Are you here to give your report then?” The general smiled warmly at him-- he was, Tetsurou thought mournfully, such a good man. It was a shame that that had to be conditional… Tetsurou almost wished he could have missed hearing what he had. _

 

_ “Yes sir. I’ve written up the specifics here,” he said, proffering a scroll for General Tanahashi to peruse. The general took it and set it on his desk, eyeing Tetsurou expectantly. “But you’ll be happy to know that we’ve sustained very few casualties, and the injuries are largely minor,” he finished. _

 

_ The general nodded. “I see, I see. Good to hear. Was that all then, colonel?” _

 

_ Tetsurou mustered up the most rakish grin he could. “Not quite, general. The boys wanted to know if you’d like to join us in toasting the victory.” _

 

_ General Tanahashi chuckled low in his throat. “Sounds to me like they've already made the toast,” he said easily, waving a hand in the direction of the terrible singing. _

 

_ Tetsurou only smiled wider. “They wouldn't mind making another, general. Or another and another still after that. I imagine they’ll drink our alcohol reserves dry by morning.” _

 

_ At this, the general laughed loud and full, and Tetsurou was truly sorry he knew what he did. Except, of course, that was a selfish thing. Ignorance might be bliss for him, but for the prisoners? He was likely their only hope right now. _

 

_ “That, I believe. I’d best get myself a tankard then, before there's none to be had.” He crossed to the entrance, pulling aside the flap and waving an arm towards it. “Colonel?” _

 

_ “Of course. Thank you, general.” It was hard to keep from stiffening as he passed the older man, but Tetsurou managed. _

 

_ The night went by quickly. Tetsurou did his best to enjoy himself, knowing this would likely be his last chance to do so; the price for his treason would be death, he knew, and he was well prepared to pay it… unfortunately, he knew this was a job he couldn't do alone.  _

 

_ He thought it over. He needed help from people he could trust-- to do their part right, to do things discreetly, and to see the plan through until the end. Of his soldiers, he could already think of a few people who fit the bill; his men were by and large just as moral and kind as he’d thought the general had been. But he couldn't ask all of them. That was too many for them to move unnoticed, and he didn't want to ask anyone with a family or a sweetheart waiting for them to return. It was bad enough to ask them to basically sacrifice their lives in exchange for those of the slaves, but to ask them to abandon those they loved in the process? Tetsurou couldn't do that. _

 

_ That did, however, rule out a majority of them. There were maybe four names left. It was… just about enough to get things done, if they moved quick. As the night came to a close and little by little, the men retired to their beds, Tetsurou found himself formulating a rough plan, lying on his sleeping mat and staring up at the roof of the tent. He would need at least an idea of how to go about things before he asked anyone to join him. _

 

_ Sleep did not come for a long time. _

 

_ The morning dawned foggy and cold, and the clouds overhead promised rain later in the day. As the half-asleep soldiers trudged out for their meal, Tetsurou pulled aside the men he had chosen and asked them to eat with him. They agreed easily, though they all held a questioning look about them-- they knew him well enough to know something important was about to happen, and the fact that they waited quietly for him to broach the subject showed their trust in him. _

 

_ Tetsurou was both touched and sad to see it. He would have to take advantage of that trust in him, and he felt guilty even as he knew he had no other choice. _

 

_ They had their meal, trading banter and jokes and light conversation among them, an alertness in their gazes that didn't quite match their lazy drawls and sluggish gestures. When the general and anyone Tetsurou suspected of being in on the sacrifice plans had left the area, he turned to face his men, expression sober. “I need your help,” he said simply. “But it may cost you your lives-- I promise it is for a good cause, but should you want no part of this, I understand.” _

 

_ He waited, but none of them stood, none of them protested. And then Sakamoto spoke up. “You’re a good man, colonel. We believe you when you say you have good reason.” _

 

_ Tetsurou sighed. “I can't be that good a man if I'm asking for your lives.” _

 

_ “No worse a man than the general. We swore our lives to him too,” Watanabe chimed in. _

 

_ At the mention of the general, Tetsurou felt his stomach knot itself. He still couldn't comprehend how one could be so cold, so careless for other human beings. Enemy or not, didn't he see people with lives? How was it that he could be so kind, so considerate with his own men, but turn around and be that cruel and callous to someone else's men? _

 

_ “The general is the issue, actually,” Tetsurou whispered, low enough that the other men at the table had to duck closer to hear it. “He means to slaughter the prisoners. A sacrifice of lives to Ares.” _

 

_ The expressions on his men’s faces ranged from shock, to horror, to disgust. Tetsurou had feared that, at some point, he would find that these men actually supported the general’s choice to kill the prisoners. They had been the enemy not too long ago, after all. They’d likely caused many a casualty and injury among their own, surely they deserved death? But no. Tetsurou was relieved to see that these men of his, these men he considered brothers, shared his sentiments: the prisoners were people too, they didn't deserve to die after surrendering.  _

 

_ “This is your last chance to back out of this,” Tetsurou said gravely. “Your last chance to walk away and claim you knew nothing about this. I cannot make you choose death-- though I know I can't do this alone. With or without you…” _

 

_ “Save the speech, colonel,” Sakamoto cut in. “None of us are leaving, or we would have got up the first time.” The others made sounds of agreement.  _

 

_ Tetsurou looked between them all and saw the resolve in their eyes, saw the strength of their bodies, the straight line of their shoulders firm and solid as the ground beneath his feet. There was no swaying them on this. They would be with him until the very end of the line. _

 

_ He smiled ruefully. “It’s been a pleasure, then, boys. So here’s the plan I came up with…” _

 

/////

 

Tetsurou hated his instincts. He knew he had them for a reason; knew that like anyone else, he'd developed reflexes meant to keep him alive and away from experiences similar to his past trauma-- okay, fine. Tetsurou didn't hate his instincts. More accurately, he hated not understanding them.

 

Bokuto and Akaashi had left a few minutes after Iwaizumi and Oikawa, Akaashi claiming a need to study, Bo deciding to accompany him home and then head to the nearby gym. With nearly half of them gone, the group became a much softer version of itself, their conversations carried on in lowered, private voices, little gestures exchanged in lieu of snarky remarks. Of course, there was still plenty of banter, but it was the languorous sort, less a battle of wits on a court, more a game of patience and strategy.

 

And Tetsurou liked it. He really did. He enjoyed poking and prodding at people to see what made them itch, liked trading fast and sharp words like bullets-- but he liked this too. 

 

His issue lay in the background noise. Not the soft murmur of chatter from his friends. Not the hum of the air conditioner or the muddle of car engines and hurried footsteps that leaked in from the outside every time the door opened to admit a new customer. Not the cheerful greetings of the staff or their calls of orders for the kitchen to hear. It was small, really. Barely noticeable.

 

It shouldn't have been an issue at all.

 

But it was.

 

Somewhere nearby, was the sound of liquid hitting the floor. It was a very minute noise. He didn't know where it was coming from, but he suspected if he were just a little bit further, he wouldn't have heard it at all. As it was, it was only the drop in their group’s volume that had allowed him to notice it.

 

_ Plip. Plip. _

 

_ Plip. _

 

Tetsurou sat stiff in his seat, trying his best to ignore it. It wasn't really working though. Beside him, Kenma’s fidgeted slightly with the buttons of his game-- pointlessly, if the credits rolling across the screen meant what Tetsurou assumed they did-- as if picking up on Tetsurou's unease.

 

_ Plip _ .

 

Tetsurou's hands, having just grasped his soda, clenched too tight around the flimsy paper cup.

 

“Oh! Are you okay, Kuroo?”

 

Tetsurou started, wide eyes fixed on the soda spilling over his fingers and the table as if surprised to see it. His soda had barely been touched, actually-- he’d found early on that he liked his soda best a little flat, when the carbonation didn't hurt his throat so much. As a result, the sudden tightening of his grip had caused the cover to pop off and the liquid inside to overflow.

 

He blinked once. Twice.

 

“Kuroo,” Sugawara said again, reaching over to pry his fingers off the cup. Sawamura had gone to the counter to ask for a mop, and Yaku was quietly sopping up the puddle on the table. “You all right?”

 

Tetsurou nodded slowly. “I… yes. I'm fine.”

 

Yaku reached into a pocket of his laptop bag (he never seemed to be without it) and pulled out some wet wipes. He took Tetsurou's hands from Sugawara and methodically wiped them clean of the sticky-sweet soda, eyes fixed on his work as if nothing were more important. Tetsurou watched him do it with a similar level of focus, letting the bustle of his friends cleaning up the mess around him (he felt vaguely guilty, of course, but he couldn't seem to force himself into action) wash over him, loud enough to cover the dripping noise. Yaku’s gentle but firm touch was grounding, soothing, and Tetsurou felt the tension leaking from his body as if it were being wiped away with the drink.

 

“Did something scare you, Kuroo-san?” Lev asked then, and just like that, Tetsurou felt the unease flood back. For now at least, he could no longer hear the sound that had triggered it, even if he tried, but he couldn't seem to calm down.

 

Yaku pinched him. “Lev!” He hissed.

 

Tetsurou took several deep breaths, forcing his muscles to unclench and his body to loosen. He flashed a small smirk. “It’s okay, Yakkun. I’m all right now. Sorry to trouble you all.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Sawamura said, taking his seat once more. “Are you sure you're fine?”

 

Sugawara was still looking at him in concern, and even Kenma was eyeing him, his game device completely missing from his hands. Tetsurou was a little alarmed he hadn't noticed him put it away; what had happened to his soldier's reflexes?

 

All this over the sound of a couple of drops of water?

 

He made himself grin a little wider. “Just peachy,” he drawled, withdrawing his hands from Yaku’s grip and giving him a nod in thanks. 

 

“Maybe we should go home, Kuro,” Kenma mumbled beside him. “I’m tired.”

 

Tetsurou turned to face him. Tetsurou had learned over the course of the last two weeks how to discern Kenma’s different moods despite his general inexpressiveness. Right now, Kenma’s statement was only partially true.

 

Tetsurou recognized the almost-sigh at the end of each sentence as one that Kenma did when he was starting to tire of talking. Usually though, he waited until he mostly used wordless signals or one-word replies before asking to retire. His eyes too, were still sharp and steady, not drooping shut nor dull with boredom. They weren't flickering from spot to spot either, so at least Tetsurou knew he wasn't anxious or anything.

 

Which meant he was likely doing it to give Tetsurou an excuse to leave without worrying everyone. 

 

Tetsurou smiled gently at him. “We can do that. You don't want to finish your fries first, Kenma?”

 

Kenma shook his head just a little. “Lev, you can have them,” he said. The starboy cheered, thanking Kenma through a mouthful of them-- he received a flick on the arm for that, and a scolding from Yaku for talking while chewing.

 

Tetsurou would have laughed, or at least smirked, but he could hear the dripping noise again, and he couldn't quite muster it up. Instead he stood and led Kenma out with a hand resting lightly on the small of his back, offering a small wave to their companions. Kenma dipped his head at them in a nod before burying his face in his phone, leaving Tetsurou to maneuver him out of the way of any obstacles. Usually the smaller man was forced to tuck away his gadget and lead the way, which was expected since Tetsurou hadn't lived here his whole life (or at least several years) like the rest of Kenma’s friends. They came around to this area often enough, however, that Tetsurou could easily guide Kenma to where they needed to go, and Kenma knew it.

 

“Thanks,” he said, tugging Kenma out of the way of a passerby.

 

“Hm.”

 

Tetsurou brought them to the station, and once they were seated in the right train, he said, “There was water dripping. Earlier-- the sound was triggering some reflex or other.” He lowered his voice, almost talking to himself, “I only wish I remembered  _ why _ .”

 

“Hm. You didn't need to tell me.” Kenma said it without any particular inflection. He was merely stating fact, not saying it out of any offense or petulance. His eyes slid to Tetsurou for a second, and then moved back to his screen.

 

“I know. But you were wondering, weren't you? Besides, I don't mind.” He really didn't. He figured he owed Kenma at least that much, considering what he was doing for him, letting him stay and showing him around the modern world.

 

The corner of Kenma’s mouth twitched in what might have been a flicker of a smile. “Mm.”

 

“That’s a different hum,” Tetsurou noted. “Does it mean you're happy I told you anyway?”

 

“Shut up, Kuro.”

 

/////

 

When they reached the small apartment Kenma shared with Sugawara and Yaku (and now, Kuroo, Sawamura, and Lev), Kenma unlocked the door and toed off his shoes without looking-- nearly stumbling, had Tetsurou not snagged his elbow and righted him.

 

“Oh,” Kenma said.

 

Tetsurou quirked up an eyebrow. “You should be more careful. And maybe pay attention to what you're doing instead of your screen.”

 

Kenma grunted.

 

Tetsurou pulled off his own shoes, following Kenma into the living room. Except Kenma didn't stop there, like Tetsurou thought he would. He made a beeline for the kitchenette, hovering by the sink for a minute before opening the cabinet below it and waiting a little more. Apparently satisfied, he headed towards the bathroom they shared with Yaku and Lev, once again standing in place, strangely attentive, before nodding a little to himself and heading off to Sugawara’s room; possibly to do the same to Sugawara’s en suite bathroom. 

 

Tetsurou watched from beside the sofa (he hadn't yet sat down) with mild curiosity before it occurred to him what the other was doing.

 

He was checking for leaks-- checking to be sure Tetsurou wouldn't be triggered.

 

Tetsurou was startled, and more than a little touched. “You didn't have to do that,” he said, as Kenma settled himself on the couch.

 

Kenma merely blinked at him as if to say,  _ I know. _

 

Tetsurou smiled a little. “Thank you.”

 

Kenma hummed.

 

Tetsurou took a seat next to him, stretching one arm across the back of the couch and watching in vague interest as Kenma started up his game once more. He still didn't really get the different consoles and controls for them, but he liked watching Kenma play. And the storylines could be pretty intriguing, actually.

 

About ten minutes later, Kenma spoke up. “Did you want to try?” he asked lowly. “I can show you how.”

 

Tetsurou shook his head. “No thank you. I’d rather just watch.”

 

“Okay.”

 

So that was how their other housemates found them when they finally came home themselves. Yaku announced it was his turn to cook, and Tetsurou stood, offering to help. Lev tried to join in too, but Yaku immediately pushed him out of the kitchen-- “You're clumsy, Lev! And careless! You’ll kill yourself, or worse, kill all of us!”

 

Lev pouted for a second, then bounded off to bug Kenma instead. Kenma looked pleadingly at Tetsurou, but Yaku was already giving him small tasks to do, sliding the things he’d need to his side of the counter, so he merely shrugged apologetically before getting to work.

 

He could hear Sugawara and Sawamura engaging Lev in conversation, trying to keep him from overwhelming Kenma. He heard Lev’s enthusiastic stories and remarks. He heard Kenma’s soft noises of acknowledgement and the sounds of Yaku boiling water for their ramen. 

 

Things were fine. Absolutely fine. Domestic, even. He hadn't thought he'd have something domestic so soon after being freed, but here he was. Washing and chopping up vegetables for a shared meal, revelling silently in the background noise of a home full of people.

 

Home. So soon, and this was home…

 

Tetsurou smiled to himself. “These are done,” he told Yaku, sliding the chopping board within the other man’s reach. “Anything else?”

 

Yaku shook his head. “No. I'm good, thanks Kuroo. You can go join the others if you want.”

 

Tetsurou nodded and went back into the living room, sitting on the floor since the sofa was now crowded with the other four men all squashed onto it. Kenma had switched on his big console, the… PlayStation, right? Lev, Sugawara, and Kenma each had a controller, while Daichi watched on in amusement. 

 

“Kenma-san, stop killing me!!!” Lev complained, as his character respawned. 

 

“The point of this game  _ is  _ to kill you, Lev,” Kenma huffed.

 

Sugawara laughed. “Yeah, and I just got you!” He crowed, as he shot Kenma’s avatar in the back, invoking another indignant puff of air from the smaller man.

 

Tetsurou faced Sawamura with a lazy smile. “Not going to play?”

 

Sawamura chuckled. “No. I can barely work the TV by myself, I'm not going to try and do this.”

 

Tetsurou nodded in agreement. “That, I can relate to.”

 

Sugawara was loud about both his joy and displeasure, a stark contrast to Kenma’s quiet but intense focus. Lev mostly whine about dying and flailed about with the controls, but he seemed to be having fun too. Tetsurou made snarky little remarks when he saw a chance (and there were plenty), and Sawamura looked over it all with a fond sort of exasperation, occasionally making a comment of his own. 

 

It was fine. Good even.

 

Tetsurou thought he could get used to this, grow fond of it.

 

And then-- it wasn't fine at all.

 

Suddenly, Tetsurou remembered gasping. He remembered fighting to keep his head above water, remembered pulling at chains he couldn't hope to break.

 

He remembered his lungs crying out for oxygen that wasn't there.

 

His chest heaved, sucking in one breath after another-- but they were too shallow, there wasn't enough air, and he was going to  _ suffocate _ \--

 

“Kuroo. Kuroo, you're okay, shh. You're fine.”

 

Someone put a hand on his knee-- it drew him back to the present, but he still couldn't calm himself down. His pulse was too fast, his head was swimming, he--

 

“Kuroo. Breathe with me, okay?” The hand on his knee squeezed softly, reassuring. “In…”

 

Tetsurou forced himself to suck in a deep breath, felt the air flood his lungs.

 

“Out…”

 

Tetsurou let it go, slow and steady.

 

“Good.”

 

His head clearer now, Tetsurou recognized the voice and the grip on his leg as Sawamura. He spoke calmly, soothingly, eyes shining in concern as he helped Tetsurou uncurl from the fetal position he’d adopted.

 

“All right?”

 

Tetsurou hesitated. “For now, I suppose… I just…” He shook his head to clear it. “Thank you.”

 

Sawamura smiled warmly. “You’re welcome. I’ll make you some tea, shall I?”

 

Tetsurou nodded gratefully, and Sawamura pulled away slowly, watching to be sure that Tetsurou would not freak out again at the loss. When he was fine, Sawamura moved off to the kitchen, taking the mug and the can of tea from Yaku with a small word of thanks.

 

As his heart rate slowed to its normal beat, without Sawamura commanding his full attention, he realized that everyone was watching him. Thankfully, it was nothing like judgment. Mostly it was worry and curiosity. There was a question in their eyes, one that Tetsurou knew he would eventually need to answer--

 

“You didn't tell us the whole truth, did you?” Kenma said softly. “We can't know how to help if you don't tell us, Kuro.”

 

Okay… ‘eventually’ apparently meant ‘now’.

 

Sugawara sighed. “He’s right. We won't push you if you really aren't ready, but… why is this happening all of a sudden? You were fine before.”

 

Yaku came out of the kitchen then, Sawamura behind him. Yaku handed him the tea Sawamura had promised and sat beside him. He didn't say anything, which Tetsurou appreciated. If he had added to Sugawara and Kenma, it would've felt like he was being ganged up on.

 

Hell, even Lev was being quiet. 

 

Well… they had promised to help him same as all the other starboys, and these past two weeks they hadn't shown any signs of expecting anything in return, no matter how odd that seemed to Tetsurou. 

 

“The thing is… I remember a little more than I told you about. Part of my punishment for freeing those slaves?” He clenched his hands into fists. Opened them. Watched the movement idly. “I was sentenced to live one lifetime of torture for every one I saved.”

 

There was a silence as the others processed this information, no doubt shocked. “And how many lives was that?” Sugawara asked.

 

Tetsurou didn't want to tell him. He didn't. But he knew he had to. “Ninety.”

 

He heard the room suck in a collective inhale, though he didn't look up to see their faces. He continued, “I don't remember all of them. Athena promised me that only the last five would stick around in my head, and even then, not completely. I think it was her way of granting me mercy, when Ares had given me none. She also suppressed them so I would have time to adjust to this world.”

 

It was, surprisingly, Lev who spoke next. “They’re coming back now, though. Aren't they?”

 

No one responded, but they all knew he was right. Kuroo sighed, but then lifted his head and flashed a weak grin. “Well, nothing to be done about it now. If Yaku’s here, that must mean we can eat, right?”

 

Yaku eyed him for a moment, before shrugging and saying, “Yeah. It's all on the table already.”

 

Tetsurou realized that he hadn't touched his tea at all, and he took a tentative sip to find it had cooled to just about acceptable. He downed a little more of it.

 

“Let’s eat then?” He said, pushing himself to his feet. The others followed suit, but he could feel one gaze following him, intent and so sharp Tetsurou was certain it would cut him. He didn't need to turn around to know it was Kenma-- whatever was going on in the other man’s mind, he didn't know, but he wasn't sure he was ready to hear whatever he wanted to say.

 

He struck up a conversation with Sugawara and Sawamura as he took a seat at the table, asking them (mostly Sugawara) about the sport that all three of the original tenants of the house played: volleyball. While part of it was just an excuse to avoid a discussion with Kenma, he really did find it interesting. He wanted to try it out, some time; Sugawara promised one weekend he would teach Tetsurou how to play, explaining the mechanics in the meantime.

 

Tetsurou was so absorbed in not talking to Kenma (not that it was difficult) that when Kenma did mumble something, he nearly jumped out of his seat. As it was, he managed to drop his fork with a clatter, apologizing quickly for the disruption and turning to face Kenma. “What? Sorry, I didn't quite catch that.”

 

“I said, you’d make a good middle blocker,” Kenma said, barely raising his voice. “It’s a volleyball position,” he explained.

 

Sugawara’s eyes lit up. “I think I can see that!”

 

“What does a middle blocker do, then?” Sawamura asked. “Don't you think you should explain it to Kuroo?”

 

Sugawara waved him off. “I was getting to that! You see, a middle blocker’s job is to shut down the spikes of the opposing team…” He went on to explain animatedly, making gestures and defining different terms as he went along. He described the different kinds of blocks, the general attributes of this type of player… Tetsurou had to admit, it sounded like something he could enjoy. That Kenma had figured that out so quickly spoke volumes of his skill in the sport, despite indications that his physical aptitude was a little lower than that of the others.

 

“What about you, what position do you play?” Tetsurou asked.

 

Sugawara blinked. “Oh me? I'm a setter, same as Kenma. Yaku’s a libero.” He explained the positions quickly, giving the starboys a rough sketch of what they each did on the court. When he finished, he said, “Speaking of spikers, I think you’d make a good one, Daichi.”

 

“Ah? Really?”

 

Sugawara nodded. Very enthusiastically.

 

Yaku started cleaning up the plates, nudging Lev to get him to help. “Sawamura strikes me more as a sort of defender. He looks like he could pull off some solid receives,” he said.

 

“That’s true…” Sugawara mused.

 

“Ooh! My turn now! What about me?” Lev piped up, bouncing on his toes (this earned him a whack on the arm from Yaku-- “Help clean up already, you big lug!”).

 

Kenma assumed his flattest expression. “None. You have zero coordination.”

 

“But!” Lev squawked, flailing and nearly smashing a plate into Yaku’s face. “I’m tall! Isn't that good for volleyball? You said!”

 

“Height isn't everything,” Yaku grumbled, taking the dishes from Lev lest he finally shatter one (or several) like he kept threatening to. “Coordination and game sense are much more important. I agree with Kenma, you don't seem to have either.” With that, he went off into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

 

Tetsurou pushed himself to his feet, deciding to help; he still felt bad for making the others worry earlier, and really having nothing to do while others worked generally gave him a sense of unease. Lev trotted after them too, but Tetsurou had a feeling it was more to bother Yaku again than anything.

 

He offered to dry the dishes as Yaku washed them, and the other man accepted with a small smile, before turning back to glower at the sink-- Tetsurou had a suspicion it was more directed at the silver-haired starboy behind them though. “What?” he said tightly.

 

Instead of properly answering, Lev murmured, “Are you mad at me, Yaku-san?”

 

“No.” Yaku scrubbed a little too viciously at one of the plates.

 

“But something  _ is  _ upsetting you,” Tetsurou observed. “What is it, Yakkun? Or have the plates insulted your mother?”

 

Yaku sighed, transferring his scowl to Tetsurou. “You aren't as funny as you think you are.” Without facing Lev, he said to him, “I’m not mad at you, so just go… join Kenma and the others.”

 

“What are you mad about then, Yaku-san? Can I help?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh.” Tetsurou smiled reassuringly at Lev, but Lev didn't seem to notice. Instead, he watched Yaku a little longer with a small frown on his face before returning to the living room. He felt a little bad for the guy; he looked like a puppy who’d just been kicked by its owner.

 

“So then, what's the problem?” Yaku handed him a plate, and Tetsurou took the dish towel and wiped it down slowly, careful to dry it completely before setting it down so his hands were free for the next one. When Yaku handed him another without saying anything, Tetsurou bumped their elbows together to prompt him. “Yakkun.”

 

“Just drop it, Kuroo,” he complained. Tetsurou grinned wide, opening his mouth to retort when Yaku snapped, “No, I did not mean the fucking plate.”

 

Tetsurou laughed. “Good, because that would be pretty wasteful.”

 

“You're a piece of shit, Kuroo.”

 

If Yaku wasn't ready to talk about it… well, Tetsurou wouldn't push him. He knew what it was like to want to hold things close to the chest.

 

/////

 

Tetsurou laid out his futon, conscious of Kenma’s eyes on him the whole while. Tetsurou would be lying if he said he wasn't more than a little unnerved by it. Just as he began to fidget, to wonder if he should prompt Kenma, the other man said, “Do you think it was a mercy?”

 

“What?” Whatever Tetsurou had been expecting, that hadn't been it. He finished preparing his bed and sprawled across it, puffing air through his cheeks. “I’ve never really thought about it. I--”

 

“Liar,” Kenma interrupted softly.

 

Tetsurou gave a humorless chuckle. “Okay, fine. You're right. It depends, I guess. Some days I'm glad not to have it. That for a little while, it's like I don't have the trauma at all.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But other times… like today… I hate it. It's frustrating, you know? To not know these awful things that happened to me. I can't… I can't cope with what I don't know, and if I don't learn to, what happens in an emergency? If one of those memories comes back?”

 

He didn't face him, but Tetsurou knew Kenma was getting up off his bed by the creaking of the mattress. “You aren't a soldier any more, Kuro. There aren't a lot of emergencies unless you're a walking disaster like Lev.” The light flipped off, and Kenma hovered by the door as his eyes presumably adjusted to the sudden darkness.

 

Tetsurou barked out a laugh. “We live with that disaster, you know. We'll likely be collateral damage.”

 

Kenma gave his own huff of amusement. “We have Yaku. We'll be fine.”

 

There was a bit of quiet. Then: “You said ‘other times’. Today wasn't the first, was it?”

 

_ Shit _ . He hadn't meant to let that slip. Before he could even attempt to backtrack, Kenma said, “I’m right.”

 

It wasn't a question at all. It was a statement of fact. Because he  _ was  _ right. How was this man so perceptive?

 

“Yeah, you are,” Tetsurou confirmed, needlessly. He hoped to leave it at that, but Kenma didn't seem ready to let it go. He didn't voice any of his thoughts, but his gaze was still heavy on Tetsurou's skin, almost making it prickle with goosebumps. He sighed and relented, “It started last week. Mostly dreams. I don't usually remember them when I wake; just the feeling. Just the fear.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Not really. A couple times here and there where I was just… tense, for some reason. You did notice-- I saw you glance at me. Sometimes you even tapped the back of my hand or my knee,” he said.

 

“I thought it was just because of the whole… modern world stuff,” Kenma explained, and there was a little wrinkle to his brow. “You could've said something…” He sounded petulant, but Tetsurou knew Kenma didn't actually blame him.

 

“I didn't want to bother any of you about it, you already--”

 

“That’s why you woke up that time, isn’t it?”

 

Tetsurou needed a moment, but then he remembered. Once, when he’d woken up as the sun began to rise (in other words, far too early), breathing harsh and chest gripped with panic, Kenma had still been awake-- eyes blinking too much in the over-bright light of his game screen. Tetsurou had made him quit and go to bed, despite his protests that he was about to win, and had kept him from going into class the next day too.

 

He nodded. “Focusing on you helped me calm down, actually. And it kept me from having to think about it the next-- or later that day? I suppose? I guess I should thank you for that.”

 

Kenma didn't respond, but Tetsurou heard him shifting about again, likely settling back into bed. “That wasn't the only time, though.” Kenma’s tone was flat, but Tetsurou knew it was a question by the tentativeness of it, by the way Kenma moved so that he was lying on his side facing Tetsurou.

 

“No, it wasn't.”

 

“Why didn't I wake up?” Kenma asked, and it almost sounded… apologetic? But what for? It wasn't his fault.

 

Tetsurou shrugged. “Beats me. Though I think it helps that I never had the sort of dream that woke me screaming or crying, really.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not yet, anyway. I have a feeling that won't last long, and my instincts are usually right.”

 

“And after?”

 

Tetsurou wasn't sure what he meant. “After… I wake up?”

 

Kenma nodded.

 

“Why don't you wake up then?” Another nod. Tetsurou considered this for a moment, though he didn't need to. He knew exactly why Kenma was never disturbed, and that reason was-- “I trained myself a long time ago to internalize my reactions to things. It was necessary.” He didn't elaborate, and he hoped Kenma would read his body language (tensed and closed off, hands grasping at his pillow the way they did when he was finally going to try and sleep) well enough to know he didn't want to.

 

Kenma didn't disappoint. He simply hummed an acknowledgement and then bid Tetsurou goodnight.

 

Tetsurou could see the dim glow of Kenma’s device beneath the blanket, but he didn't have the energy to say anything; not even a snide remark about hiding under his covers like a child, though he certainly thought about it.

 

And if Kenma’s fingers were strangely still, only his eyes moving across the screen as if he were reading and nothing more, Tetsurou didn't wonder about it. Perhaps it was simply another story game.

 

And that night, Tetsurou had a thankfully dreamless sleep.

 

/////

 

When Kenma’s alarm rang, Tetsurou was already awake, and had been for about half an hour. Kenma grumbled something and sat up, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes.

 

Tetsurou took that as his cue to get up as well. “What was that, Kenma?”

 

“Alarm. Off. Please.”

 

Tetsurou fought back a snicker at how absolutely adorable a sleepy Kenma was. He seemed to be pouting at the prospect of having to actually live life and do stuff, and as Tetsurou did as requested and silence the alarm clock on Kenma’s side table (something Kenma had taught him very early on for the express purpose of having him take over the duty), he couldn't help but reach over and ruffle Kenma’s hair. “It’s done. Come on, up and at ‘em.”

 

“Shut up, Kuro.”

 

“You have class, Kenma, and also it's our turn to cook breakfast,” Tetsurou pointed out, yanking Kenma’s blanket away in hopes that the morning air would be cold enough to urge him out of bed. Kenma whined at the action, but didn't move to stop it or grab the blanket back, so at least that was progress.

 

“You mean your turn,” Kenma muttered. “You cook.”

 

Tetsurou rolled his eyes. “Because you always wind up doing something basic.”

 

“There's nothing wrong with basic,” Kenma said defensively, finally standing up and shuffling through his dresser. He moved sluggishly, picking out one article of clothing and looking down on it for several seconds before deciding if he'd wear it or not, and then doing the same thing to the next piece. As if his brain were still asleep.

 

How long had he been up last night?

 

Well, as long as he was functioning… he was a grown man, really. He could make his own decisions.

 

“Yes, but people do get sick of things eventually. You could try learning new recipes. They can still be simple.”

 

Kenma grunted. That was probably a rejection, then.

 

Tetsurou made the bed and kept away the futon, then headed into the kitchen. Well, it wasn't like he minded. Doing simple tasks and getting into routine helped him feel better; less like he was missing too many pieces, and more… human.

 

He hummed to himself as he worked-- some old tavern ditty he remembered from nights drinking with the men. He’d always liked cooking, and with all the new appliances and such, it was easier than ever; the others seemed to like his food, too, and having people enjoy what he made was one of the best feelings he’d ever had.

 

He had just finished preparing the ingredients when a door in the hall opened. “Mornin’ Lev. Yaku left for class already?”

 

“Mmhm.” Lev trotted over, holding out a note in one hand. “He left this on our door.”

 

Tetsurou scanned it quickly. Lev, he had been surprised to learn, had never been taught how to read. He’d mostly done manual labor and other menial tasks, so it had never been strictly necessary in his old life. Everyone was pitching in to teach him, but it was slow-going. Lev simply didn't want to focus; he preferred exploring and fiddling with things over practicing his letters, which meant for the meantime, everyone else had to read things for him.

 

“It says he's got classes until three. He brought the leftovers from last night for breakfast and he’ll have lunch out-- I think that was for me-- and it also says here that you should behave yourself and stick with at least one of the rest of us.” Tetsurou started up the rice cooker and then went back to the main dish.

 

Lev pouted. “I’m not a child,” he complained. “Why does he make it sound like I am one?”

 

Tetsurou raised an eyebrow. “Because you still say things like that in  _ that _ tone, with  _ that _ look on your face. Like a huffy infant. And also you're ridiculously careless, if we left you alone you’d likely cause an explosion.” He started up the stove and began to cook in earnest, waving a hand vaguely at the cabinets. “Set the table, would you? You ought to know where everything is by now.”

 

Lev perked up immediately. The nice thing about Lev was he genuinely liked to be of help, so as long as it wasn't something he found tiring or boring, he was eager to do whatever he was asked.

 

Tetsurou was maybe... slightly regretting asking Lev to handle breakables, but… he could probably handle it. Probably.

 

Another door down the hall opened, and Sugawara and Sawamura stumbled out. Well-- actually Sugawara stumbled. Sawamura looked like he was on the verge of laughter as he tried to steady the other.  “Come on, Suga, you woke up twenty minutes ago and have been awake enough to flirt with me, you can definitely walk.”

 

“I could flirt with you in my sleep, Daichi. In fact, I do, in my dreams,” Sugawara retorted. “It’s just who I am as a person. Having a functioning body any time before noon is a different matter.”

 

Sawamura went a little red, but he said nothing, chuckling lowly.

 

Tetsurou smirked. “Oyaoya? Remember, no PDA around the kids, please.” 

 

“I’m not a kid!” Lev protested, having completed his assignment. He wandered back into the kitchen to fetch a pitcher of water from the fridge for the table. 

 

Tetsurou sniggered. “Didn't say you were this time, but the fact you knew it was you…” 

 

“Kuroo-san, you're mean.”

 

“Excuse you, I'm a really nice guy.”

 

“Sure, Kuroo,” Sawamura said. “That’s why you provoke everybody, especially your kouhai.”

 

Tetsurou guffawed, checking on the fish in the pan and adding a little more salt. “It’s how I show my love, Sa’amura. Can't you tell?”

 

Tetsurou wasn't looking, since he was focused on the cooking food again, but he could feel Sawamura rolling his eyes good-naturedly at his back.

 

A few minutes of banter later, Kenma exited the bathroom, dripping water everywhere over the floor and his new clothes because he hadn't bothered to dry his hair right. The sight of it seemed to wake Sugawara up, though, because in an instant he was up, heading towards the other setter and clucking about colds and drying off properly.

 

Kenma, for his part, remained obediently still as Sugawara took the towel from his shoulders and scrubbed at his head with it. Tetsurou couldn't fight his amusement at the spectacle. It was really funny. Cute even.

 

Tetsurou started serving out the food-- just some mackerel for now. What could he say? It was his favorite. 

 

Sugawara was talking to Kenma about his schedule today; he only had a few classes, Tetsurou knew, so they wouldn't be apart for long. Kenma had offered to let Tetsurou sit in on a few, but Tetsurou had declined. He had nothing against Kenma’s chosen field, and he understood why Kenma would have chosen computer science, considering how he was practically glued to his screens. It just didn't hold Tetsurou's interest much. He was considering joining Oikawa one day-- the natural sciences were much more engaging in Tetsurou's opinion. They had yet to schedule that though.

 

Now, however, Sugawara was asking about Tetsurou's plans while Kenma was gone, so rather than let Kenma answer for him, Tetsurou said, “I’ll just be here at home today. Bokuto might drop by with Akaashi, I think.”

 

Sugawara considered it. “You don't want to go out? Daichi and I were going to walk around a little before my class. You’d be welcome to join us.”

 

“Thanks. I'm good though.” Tetsurou opened one of the cupboards and pulled down the bento boxes, filling them up with the extra food he’d made. He tied up the first and pushed it across the counter to Kenma, who thanked him quietly and tucked it into his backpack. The second he handed to Sugawara, who beamed easily.

 

“Thank you, Kuroo. Daichi and I can share this later.”

 

Tetsurou waggled his eyebrows. “On a date already, eh?”

 

“Hardly,” Sawamura sighed, raising a hand to hide his flush.

 

“Aw, it's not a date?”

 

“Suga--”

 

Tetsurou shook his head, smiling. Yeah, he… he felt human here.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is done! Whoop! I'm posting ot early, and tbh that means i'm already halfway out of chapters in the backlog. The 5th chapter is hard to start hfkdnfjs mostly bc I'm lazy. I'll get to it, hopefully soon enough. 
> 
> If you liked this, comments or kudos make my day, so let me know! Also, feel free to hit me up on tumblr or twitter @ theauthorish, let's talk haikyuu or writing or anything you'd like!


	3. The Proud Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, guess who's back with chapter 3 yayyy. New year, new chapter I guess? Maybe posting this will push me to finish chapter 5, finally. Anyway, for this chapter, things will def be a lot more lighthearted and fun; we saw Levyaku through someone else's eyes in both the last two chapters, so why don't we take a look at them through Lev’s eyes this time?
> 
> As always, thanks to the discord group for helping me brainstorm and encouraging me, and special shout out to Cath who helped me choose the POV for this chapter! Thanks to Cas who gave me volleyball knowledge for Yaku to bestow on Lev, because I know Nothing of Sports lmao.

_ Haiba Lev was used to being stared at. _

 

_ Firstly, he was tall; almost freakishly so, compared to everyone else here. In a country where short was the norm, Lev was constantly bumping his knees on tables and his head on archways, and generally making a nuisance of himself because he could never be comfortable indoors.  _

 

_ Secondly, he was half-foreign. His mother had had him and his sister with some explorer come to map out her (now their) land and find treasure. He’d been present for some of Alisa’s childhood, but not Lev’s-- he’d promised to come get the family, one day, once he’d made a fortune off his findings. And then he’d left. _

 

_ But he never did come back, and so neither Lev nor Alisa considered him their father. He was the explorer, and that was all. _

 

_ But that was an old tale, as far as things go, and though Lev had been the subject of whispers because of it when he was younger, now that wasn't really the case. Now, they stared because of the features the explorer had passed down to him that no one else here had-- vibrant green eyes the color of fresh-cut grass and flower stems, silver hair like all the shine of the moon was in his hair… or so his mother said. It was just coloring to him. _

 

_ (Sometimes, though, in the dead of night, he wondered what it was to have dark hair, dark eyes. To not stick out above everyone else like a tree in the middle of a plain. Sometimes, when he played in the dirt and the mud or he scrubbed the ashes from the hearth, he wondered if maybe rubbing the ashes into his hair could turn it dark. Sometimes he curled up on himself so he’d be small, so that maybe if he clenched tight enough he’d stop growing so fast. Sometimes-- sometimes. It wasn't all the time. But it was often enough.) _

 

_ Thirdly, Lev was… Lev. He spoke too much too loudly, about things no one else wanted to hear. He just didn't know how to filter his thoughts. He didn't think it was right to, anyway. Wasn't that a little like lying? And he never wanted to lie, not when a lie had shattered his mother's heart. That meant he said things no one else would say, getting odd looks and narrow eyed judgment and sometimes a hushed chiding. _

 

_ But he was used to it. _

 

_ And that was why he kept going about his business as the people around him gaped at him for saying, “Why is Hermes god of thieves? Shouldn't a good thief not get caught?” he wondered aloud. It was an idle thought that occurred as he paid for his vegetables at one of the market stalls, but the other shoppers near him looked outright scandalized. “And you’d have to be caught for people to call you the god of thieves. So he isn't that good after all, right?” _

 

_ “You best watch your mouth, boy,” the vendor grumbled, though unlike a few of the other sellers around, he didn't threaten not to serve Lev or shoo him off; he was old friends with their mother and Alisa, and therefore much more lenient with Lev that he might otherwise be. “The gods won't take so kindly to someone who keeps blaspheming them.” _

 

_ “Blast-fee-what?” _

 

_ The vendor-- his name was Ito-san, Lev thought-- sighed again, heavy with regret and exasperation both. It wasn't Lev’s fault he couldn't read. No one had taught him, and he never had time to ask someone to teach him. _

 

_ Besides, it was boring. _

 

_ “Blaspheming, boy. It means disrespecting.” _

 

_ “Oh.” Lev said, as he tucked each stalk of spinach and leafy head of cabbage away in the ratty old basket of his. “Why not just say that then?” _

 

_ “Forget it. Just go, will you? I lose business when you're around,” Ito-san said, dismissing Lev with a flap of his hand. _

 

_ “But--” _

 

_ “No.” The vendor interrupted, busying himself rearranging his merchandise (what for, exactly, Lev couldn't guess; he suspected it was to avoid having to actually look at Lev-- then again, it could just be some mysterious thing about vegetables that Lev didn't really care to know). “I don't care that you don't mean disrespect. Just because someone don't know it's bad manners to spit on you don't mean it don't bother you.” _

 

_ “How’d you know what I wanted to say, Ito-san?” Lev asked instead. _

 

_ “Because you always say that.” His brow twitched. “Now go before I decide you ain't worth serving after all.” _

 

_ Lev scampered off, if only because he knew it would make things hard for Alisa and his mother. Well that was one chore down, at least. He considered ambling around the market a while longer, maybe so _

_ spend a little of his earnings that weak (it wasn't much to begin with) on some treat for himself. Or a sweet to share with Alisa and mother. _

 

_ Or maybe… _

 

_ No. He shouldn't. Alisa would get angry, probably, and mother would be sad. They liked to tell him to save the spoiling for special events. Besides he had to chop firewood today, and clear the small field behind their home. _

 

_ So he might as well go home, right? _

 

_ Maybe if Lev hadn't been so accustomed to stares, he would have felt the inhuman eyes fixed on his every move from one of the treetops on the path home. Maybe he would have turned to look at the gorgeous bird and wondered how it could have feathers of so many colors, as if it were born straight from all the hues the sun painted across the sky after the rain. But then, maybe that wouldn't have changed anything. After all, a bird so colorful couldn't possibly be a bad omen. Besides, Lev didn't really believe in omens to begin with. _

 

_ When he made it home, Alisa was sitting at the loom, weaving. Lev loved watching her work; she was patient and joyful the way she was with everything, and her technique was beautiful. He liked to tell her she was better than any goddess or muse, because to him, it was the truth. He said it again now: “You're so good with the loom, Alisa, I’m sure all the gods are jealous.” _

 

_ She always said the same thing though: “Hush, Lyovochka, the gods are above us mortals in every way, and you mustn’t say these things. Don't you remember Arachne?” _

 

_ Lev would normally pout and say he did, and she would cross her arms and wait for him to apologize and retract the statement. But today, he didn't do that. Today, when she brushed it off, he said softly, “How can the gods be above someone as kind and good as you, if half the stories about them are revenge or petty grudges?” _

 

_ Why were the gods so special anyway? Everyone always acted as if they were perfect and deserved only worship, but the stories painted them as so incredibly  _ human.  _ He was tired of being told he needed to pretend to think the same, tired of being told everyday to shut up when he said anything about them that wasn't praise, like it was unnatural somehow to doubt beings he’d never seen. _

 

_ Alisa gasped. “Lyovochka, no, you mustn’t--” _

 

_ “You can't deny it though!” Lev insisted. _

 

_ Alisa started to tremble, blood draining from her face as she stared past Lev-- at the door. “Lev. Say you didn't mean it.” _

 

_ Lev shook his head. _

 

_ “Even if he had taken it back, child,” said an unfamiliar voice behind Lev, “He has said too much for others to hear. The gods can no longer let him be, though it pains us.” _

 

_ The last Lev saw of Alisa was her tearful expression as she fell to her knees, begging for mercy for him. He couldn't hear the words, though he saw her mouth move; but he knew without even thinking about it that that was what she was doing. _

 

_ Vaguely, he wondered if he'd remembered to at least set down the vegetables. He hoped he did. He would hate to have gone to the market for nothing. _

 

_ He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to mother. _

 

/////

 

Lev’s lanky limbs were sprawled across the floor of Yaku-san’s room, his futon a mess where he hadn't yet picked it up. He probably should clean it soon. Yaku-san wouldn't be happy if he didn't. 

 

Outside in the dining room, Kuroo and the others were finishing up their food. Lev didn't know if that meant he ate too fast or they too slow. 

 

What he did know was that he didn't feel as happy today. Maybe because last night Yaku-san had been strangely closed off from him; more than usual at any rate. But Yaku-san had said he wasn't mad.

 

But lots of people said things they didn't mean.

 

Lev didn't do that. But everyone else did.

 

It wasn't very nice to know, especially since he couldn't really tell when they were being honest.

 

Sighing, he stood and cleared up his futon, then changed out of his pajamas and into some jeans and a sweater.  Today, he was thinking of just staying home with Kuroo. Kuroo-san was nice even if he was sometimes scary or mocking, and he was a surprisingly patient teacher-- Lev didn't like writing and reading much, but Yaku-san might be impressed if he improved a little before he came home and started their nightly tutoring.

 

That resolve in mind, Lev went out to find Kuroo-san, but instead he found Suga and Daichi preparing to leave. They told him Kuroo was in the shower, and then bid him goodbye and left. Kenma seemed to have left already too.

 

While he waited, Lev decided to try and play with the video game again. He managed to turn it on…

 

But that was it. He couldn't figure out which menu was which or what he was doing because he couldn't read the choices, and--

 

Ugh, why did writing and reading have to be so boring? 

 

He shut off the console again.

 

Coincidentally, he heard the shower shut off immediately after, and Kuroo stepped out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair and dressed in low-slung sweatpants and a loose shirt. “Ah, Lev. What are you up to, kid?”

 

“I tried to play but I could only read a few of the choices,” he explained, sadly.

 

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Well, we do try and teach you. You never want to focus.” He disappeared into the room he shared with Kenma, then reemerged moments later with a few sheets of paper and some pencils. “Come on, maybe now you’ll want to pay attention, not that you have some motivation.” He took a seat at the dining table, beckoning Lev over with a wave of his hand.

 

For his part, Lev groaned softly in complaint, but bounded over all the same, settling in the chair next to Kuroo. 

 

“We should work on your handwriting today,” the older starboy said. “Your penmanship is horrible. And while you write out the letters we can sound out different words that might be on your game, right?”

 

Lev bobbed his head in affirmation, and then they got started. Kuroo was firm but understanding, pointing out when Lev got something wrong and allowing him a few tries to see his mistake for himself before correcting him. Sometimes, Kuroo gave him points for improvement-- “Your writing is too wide, kid. It's fine for now, but you’ll use a lot of paper to say very little if that's how you write forever,” and, “Lev, you shouldn't press so hard, you don't need all that pressure to get the lead onto the paper,” or sometimes even, “That’s pretty good but it's a little messy. Maybe you can try to make it neater next time.”

 

As always though, Lev did eventually get bored. He begged off of anymore practice, and Kuroo begrudgingly gave in. Lev was relieved at first, until Kuroo said, “So what's the matter?”

 

Like he'd been waiting to ask it.

 

He probably had. Kuroo liked to joke and stuff, but Lev could see he was serious and concerned about others, and sharper than he seemed. 

 

Lev didn't want to lie.

 

But he didn't want to tell the truth either.

 

He sighed. Truth it was. “Yaku-san is mad at me, isn’t he?”

 

“Why would he be?”

 

“I kept calling him short. He always gets mad, but last night was… different. I think I really upset him,” Lev admitted. It felt gross and icky leaving his mouth, mostly because it felt terrible even to think it. He didn't want Yaku-san upset. Yaku-san…

 

Lev really looked up to Yaku-san-- even in his own head, Lev couldn't remove the honorific. That was how much he looked up to the other man.

 

Well… figuratively. But still!

 

Yaku-san was mature and kind and smart, and even though Lev was costing him money and effort and time, he never complained (seriously, at any rate). 

 

Lev liked him a lot. A lot a lot.

 

Probably more than he should for the time they’d known each other.

 

“Lev. You know you're speaking out loud right? I mean, I don't mind listening, but you looked a little far off, and these thoughts sound a little private,” Kuroo said, patting him on the shoulder and jolting him back to the present.

 

“Oh! I was?” Lev blinked. “That’s okay though. I don't mind you hearing, Kuroo-san.”

 

Kuroo sighed. “Fine then. So why do you think this time is different from normal?”

 

“What?” What was he… oh. Right. Yaku-san. Being angry. “Oh. Well…” Lev’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how to explain it. Could he even do that? It was just… a gut feeling. Instinct. He just knew. He shrugged. “It just is.”

 

Kuroo sighed again. “Well, he did seem upset last night. Not really angry, but… pensive.”

 

“What?”

 

“Thoughtful,” Kuroo clarified. “Like he was remembering something. I don't think it's you, but it did seem to have happened…” he trailed off. “Hm.”

 

Lev didn't know what that meant. He said as much.

 

Kuroo gnawed at his lower lip, hemming and hawing as he… figured out how to say it, maybe? Finally: “It happened around the time you said you were tall and must be good at volleyball.”

 

Lev felt himself drooping. So it was his fault.

 

“I suspect…” Kuroo mumbled. “I suppose it's an old wound. If volleyball is generally a sport of height, he must have been belittled--” Kuroo’s lips twitched into a smirk at the unintentional pun, and even Lev managed a little ‘pft’. “Well. You know. For his stature.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Before Lev could consider this information any more, Kuroo added, “Not that I'm certain, but based on the facts, it seems likely. He probably had to work harder than anyone to gain the respect he deserved.”

 

“ _ Oh. _ ”

 

Kuroo said again, “Like I said though, I can't be sure. It's possible something else is the issue.”

 

Lev muttered something about not meaning to, but he stood and began to clean up the papers and pencils-- he was upset, but he couldn't just mope about it could he? He’d just ask Yaku-san later to be sure. Kuroo stilled his hands. “We’re done with writing, not lessons. You need to learn some more basic arithmetic.”

 

Lev grumbled, but he sat back down. Maybe this was a sort of penance.

 

/////

 

“I’m home! Lev?”

 

Lev jerked his head up and brightened up instantly. “Yaku-san!”

 

Wait. Yaku-san. 

 

Lev felt his smile slip, and sank back into his chair instead of bounding over to greet him as usual. A little wrinkle appeared in Yaku-san’s brow as he tried to puzzle out what was wrong with the starboy. “I’m sorry Yaku-san,” he said quietly.

 

The wrinkle got deeper, and oh no, he was  _ really  _ upset--

 

“About what?”

 

He didn't… know? He wasn't upset? Or maybe he wanted Lev to say what, just so he knew Lev knew what he'd done wrong. Alisa used to do that. Mother did too.

 

“I kept calling you short and it made you angry.”

 

Yaku-san’s eyebrows rose, but he sat down beside Lev-- Kuroo had left at some point, Lev wasn't sure when, but he was glad for it. “And why the sudden apology? You were never bothered by it before.”

 

He didn't sound angry or disappointed. More curious. That soothed Lev’s nerves a bit, and he felt some of the tension in his shoulders leak out. He hadn't even realized it was there. “You were never as bothered as you were last night.”

 

“This again? Lev, I told you, it wasn't you I was mad at. I wasn't mad at anyone really,” Yaku-san said, fond and exasperated and maybe a little touched?

 

Lev frowned. See? Saying things that weren't quite right. Why couldn't he tell the truth? “But it started because of me, didn't it? Because what I said reminded you of… I don't know. Kuroo-san said--”

 

Yaku-san’s frown returned in an instant. “He said what, exactly? Kuroo doesn't know me any better than you do--”

 

“I know! He said it was just a guess!” Lev cut in, before Yaku-san could get too angry. “But… was he wrong?”

 

Yaku sighed, the rage leaving him as quickly as it had come. “I don't know yet. What did he say?”

 

So Lev told him as best he could-- he knew he didn't remember all of it, that Kuroo had likely had more details to go on than Lev could recount, and really, he probably had even more observations than he’d shared with Lev. That was fine, though. This was enough, he thought.

 

When he went silent, Yaku-san seemed to be considering his next response. Finally: “Well, he’s not entirely wrong. That did happen, but that was a long time ago, way back when I started out in high school. It doesn't happen much anymore.” 

 

“But it still bothers you?” Lev didn't like that. He was happy to hear it didn't still occur, but if it made Yaku-san feel bad until now… “Yaku-san you should have told me sooner! I wouldn't have kept--”

 

Yaku-san conked him over the head. “Stop thinking so hard.”

 

“Yaku-san! That hurt!”

 

“Then quit fretting! It's in my past and it isn't your fault. If you understand you were being inconsiderate, I accept your apology, so stop moping,” Yaku-san ordered.

 

He really was bossy. Lev didn't mind it too much…

 

But wow, he hit hard.

 

Lev rubbed at the spot Yaku-san had hit, muttering to himself about how mean Yaku-san was. Yaku-san ignored it.

 

“Come on, how about you and I go to the park? You wanted to learn volleyball, right? I’ll teach you some of the basics.” He got to his feet and entered the room they shared, calling behind him, “Change into some athletic clothes and wait for me by the door.”

 

He came out a bit later carrying his own change of clothes, and a bright blue and yellow volleyball (Lev assumed that was the kind of ball it was). He set the ball down by the bathroom door and went in to change.

 

Lev blinked at it for a moment, and then leapt to his feet. Yaku-san was going to teach him volleyball!!! Lev scrambled into the bedroom and rummaged around his designated drawers for some sportswear-- he didn't have much, but Yaku-san had insisted he at least have a few sets in case. He was grateful for that now, as he yanked them on carelessly. 

 

He wanted to know what volleyball was like-- why did Yaku-san and all his friends like it so much? Could he be as good as Yaku-san? He wanted to try spiking! It sounded cool! Maybe he could spike well enough to beat Yaku-san one day, and then Yaku-san could look up to him too!

 

Well, figuratively anyway. He looked up to Lev plenty physically.

 

Fighting back a giggle at the thought, Lev finished pulling on his shorts and socks and flung the door open. “I’m ready Yaku-saaan!” he cheered, marching to the genkan to tug on his sneakers. “Let’s go, let's go!”

 

“Shut up, I'm right here you idiot!” Yaku-san replied, coming up right behind him. “I literally just went to fill us some water jugs. Jeez, you can be patient can't you?” He was indeed holding two plastic tumblers of water, which he thrust at Lev.

 

Lev took them instinctively, and Yaku-san bent down to retrieve his own shoes and slip them on. “Thanks,” he said, straightening up and plucking one of the bottles from Lev’s hands. “That one's yours, so you hang onto it.”

 

Lev bobbed his head in agreement and then followed Yaku-san out the door. On the way to the park, Yaku-san started asking Lev questions about his old life, and Lev was happy to answer him-- yes, he had a sibling, her name was Alisa, she was great; she used to weave and tell him stories and take him to explore all sorts of places, and she taught him what she could, and-- yeah, he missed her. What did she look like? Well, a lot of people said like him, but prettier.

 

For some reason, Yaku-san just stared at him after that last sentence, apparently lost in thought. Then a slow blush crept up his cheeks and he whipped his face away.

 

“Is something the matter, Yaku-san?” Lev questioned, tilting his head to one side, surreptitiously trying to see Yaku-san’s face-- he was cute when he blushed, though he didn't do it often.

 

Yaku-san shoved at Lev’s head, pushing him away. 

 

“Ack!”

 

“Stop that! It's nothing. Okay? Anyway…” Yaku-san blew out a breath, calming himself. When the redness had faded from his skin, he turned to look at Lev once more. Lev wondered what he'd been thinking to get so flustered. He didn't get to ask though, because Yaku-san was saying, “Tell me more about your past. What about your parents? Are you really Japanese?”

 

“I am!!!” Lev pouted. “My mother was Japanese. She was little like-- well, she was small,” he said sheepishly, catching himself before he called Yaku-san out again. Yaku-san’s eyes narrowed, obviously knowing what he'd meant to say, but he didn't hit Lev so… “And she was so pretty! Even when she was old her hair was all deep and dark, even when all the rest of her friends were going gray. And her eyes! They were such a nice brown. Like… like leaves in autumn!”

 

“She sounds beautiful,” Yaku-san told him.

 

Lev nodded vigorously. “She was!”

 

“And your father?”

 

Lev’s face went blank. “I don't know. I didn't know him.”

 

“Oh.” Yaku paled, one hand rising tentatively to squeeze Lev’s. “I’m sorry.”

 

He shook his head. “It’s okay. He was the foreign one. He left a bit after I was born to go back to his home country. He said he'd come get us but…” Lev shrugged. “That’s what Alisa told me anyway.”

 

“Did… Did you ever wish he were there?”

 

Lev felt his expression harden, jaw clenching tight enough to ache, hands twitching at his sides as if he meant to punch something. “No.” He broke mother's heart, why would he ever want a man like that around? Because of him, some of his earliest memories included coming home, bubbling over with a story to tell mother only to walk in on her dabbing away at tears. Because of him…

 

Yaku-san gave his hand another press-- Lev jolted, realizing that Yaku-san still hadn't let go. It made Lev feel… funny and tickly in his stomach and warm and fuzzy in his face. 

 

“Sorry,” he said. “He makes me so… mad.”

 

“Understandable. That's an asshole move,” Yaku-san replied, voice thrumming with a quiet danger that sent shivers down Lev’s spine. “Just hearing about it pisses me off.”

 

Lev turned wide eyes on him. Yaku-san mad on his behalf? He smiled a little. “Thanks, Yaku-san.”

 

“For what?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

 

“For caring.”

 

Yaku-san’s face filled with color again, and then the smaller man was picking up his pace, muttering about there being only a bit more to the park and they should really stop dallying about.

 

They walked for maybe five more minutes, Yaku-san weaving easily through the crowds, Lev staggering along behind him, clumsy and oafish and just himself, really. It took only a minute of awkward confusion before they settled back into easy talk. Yaku-san told him about his high school days, about the particularly difficult games he’d played or saves he was really proud of. Lev applauded him and praised him in all the right places, an attentive audience. Yaku-san was a little like Alisa in his humility, quick to brush off the compliments by saying he had more to improve or there were others who were better-- and though Lev was sure he was much more skilled than he claimed, Lev had yet to see him play, and couldn't argue.

 

Hearing Yaku-san’s stories made him want to play more than ever, really, so he lengthened his strides and tried to hurry Yaku-san along, urging him faster so they could start playing already.

 

Yaku-san, Lev was delighted to find, indulged him.

 

They reached the park shortly, and Yaku-san strode towards an open patch of grass, setting down his water bottle and the ball.

 

This confused Lev a great deal. “Don't we need the ball to play?”

 

“We have to stretch first, or you’ll be sore,” Yaku-san told him. He waved Lev over, and Lev paused only to place his jug next to Yaku-san’s before trotting up to him. “Follow me, okay?”

 

Lev bobbed his head in assent. The stretches were easy, at first, but they got progressively more difficult,  Lev found. He wasn't this flexible! Yaku-san would demonstrate positions, have Lev imitate, and then come over and adjust his stance or the placement of his arms or something. Then he’d go back to his space and count up to eight, then back down.

 

Lev didn't really get it, but okay.

 

When Yaku-san declared they were finished, Lev cheered, going to grab the ball. Yaku-san put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Aw! Come on, I thought we were done!”

 

“With stretching,” Yaku-san said. “There's something else you need to learn before we use the ball.”

 

“What? What kind of thing?”

 

Yaku-san crouched down, hands clasped in each other and arms extended away from him. “This,” he said. “It’s the very foundation of volleyball. It's how you’ll receive the ball, and if you can't do it right, no matter how good you are at anything else, no team will want you.” His eyes, when they met Lev’s, were steely, self-assured and almost teasing. This was his element, clearly.

 

Lev did his best to mimic Yaku-san’s posture. “Like this?”

 

“Not quite.” Yaku-san straightened up, stepping close. “You can't just hold your hands any way you want. Do it like this, see?” He held up his own hands. “So that you're cupping your thumb in one hand.”

 

Lev rearranged his fingers, and Yaku-san nodded approvingly. “And your forearms are angled too much. They need to be flat. A platform for the ball to hit,” he told Lev, hands gripping said appendage lightly but firmly as he twisted them. “Good.”

 

“Now what?”

 

Yaku-san squatted down beside him. “Well, first you need to know how to hit the ball like this. You use an upward motion, like so.” Yaku-san demonstrated. “You want to use your legs to push upward and make a scooping movement.” He made the motion again, emphasizing the movement of his legs, the levelness of his arms.

 

Lev couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the movement, but none of it registered, really, other than the fact that, wow, Yaku-san must be really, really strong, if the smooth muscle cording his body was any indication.

 

“Oh,” Lev said, feigning understanding.

 

He didn't get it. But he wanted to get to the spiking already.

 

Yaku-san raised a brow though, apparently seeing right through him. “Let’s test that out, okay?” He stooped to pick up the ball, moving away from Lev. “I’ll toss this to you, and I want you to hit it back to me, like that, okay?”

 

“Okay!” It couldn't be that hard, right?

 

Yaku-san counted to three, and then gently tossed the ball in Lev’s direction.

 

It did not go back to Yaku-san. It went behind Lev instead, into the branches of some tree (luckily, it fell out instead of getting stuck). “Sorry!”

 

“It’s okay,” Yaku-san sighed, retrieving the ball. “Don't move your arms too much, remember? Use your legs. Bend your knees and push up.” His eyes raked over Lev’s stance. “And also, I should have told you earlier. Set your feet like this-- dominant foot a step in front of the other. See?” He set the ball down and demonstrated again.

 

Lev’s gaze flitted to Yaku-san’s feet, noting the distance between them. “Ohhh,” he murmured. He adjusted. “Got it!”

 

Yaku-san hummed in approval, and Lev felt an inordinate amount of pride swelling in his chest. “Relax your arms, Lev. Don't tense them-- yeah, like that. Good job.” He held up the ball. “Ready for another try, Lev?”

 

Lev bobbed his head eagerly. “Yes! One more!”

 

Yaku-san lobbed the ball at him, and Lev’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on remembering Yaku-san’s instructions…

 

The ball made contact with his forearms, bouncing back to Yaku-san-- well, roughly. It was still a little off, and had actually gone too far to one side, but it was leagues better than his original attempt, so that was great! It stung though.

 

“Yaku-san, it kind of hurts?” Lev said, rubbing at the impact points. His skin was reddening already… probably because he was so pale.

 

“Ah, it does at first, doesn't it?” Yaku-san mumbled, coming back after picking up the ball. “I forgot you weren't used to it. You will be, though.”

 

Lev opened his mouth to complain some more, but Yaku-san was already preparing to toss the ball again. “Come on, Lev. If you manage to hit it back to me five times in a row, I'll teach you the basics of spiking.”

 

Lev brightened up, and with a cheer, he readied himself again. He could do this! Five wasn't so big a number. And he already had one down! Which meant he had even less to do. If he just kept it up, he’d be spiking in no time!

 

/////

 

In the end, Lev didn't manage the five before the sun began to set, and Yaku-san declared it time to return home. His arms were sore and splotched red, with little dots all over the place. Yaku-san said it was normal for someone unused to the force and repeated smack of the ball, but Lev still sort of thought it might be some sort of weird sickness outbreak.

 

But Yaku-san would take care of him if he got sick, right, so maybe it wasn't all that bad?

 

He really wished he’d gotten to try spiking though. 

 

Yaku-san sighed heavily, though a smile was playing about his lips as he said, “Technically, you didn't earn this, but I suppose we have enough time for me to show you how to spike just once.” 

 

Lev blinked. “Can you read my mind, Yaku-san?” Was that a future thing? Could  _ everyone  _ read minds? Oh gods, that was both really scary and really cool.

 

But not as cool because Lev couldn't do it, and Lev wanted to do it too. Maybe it was a thing he could learn?

 

Yaku-san snorted. “No, you big dummy. I can't. You're just really easy to read.”

 

Lev blinked. “Eh??? You can't?” He pouted. “That would have been neat though.”

 

“Annoying, is more like it. I’d probably have a permanent headache from everyone's sheer stupidity,” Yaku-san said. He shoved the ball into Lev’s hands. “Now come on, if I'm going to show you a spike, we’d better get moving. It will be dark soon.”

 

“But… what do I…?” 

 

“Toss it up high-- not too high, though. I still need to be able to hit it, okay? Actually…” Yaku-san trailed off, taking the ball back as he demonstrated. He picked up the ball and gave it back to Lev. “There. About that high.”

 

Lev did as he was told, and Yaku-san jumped to meet the ball mid-air, hand raised. He smacked the ball down to the ground, hard, and Lev blinked at him in awe. “That was amazing!” he cheered, “Can you do it again? Can I try?”

 

“No,” Yaku-san said, immediately, even before the first question had finished passing his lips. “It’s late, and I told you, only once.”

 

“Aw.” Lev pouted, but Yaku-san didn't pay him any mind. 

 

Instead, he scooped up the ball and started the walk home, calling out behind him, “I’ll leave you to get lost if you don't hurry up!”

 

Lev yelped and chased after him.

 

/////

 

Yaku-san chewed Kuroo out as soon as they’d gotten through the door, yanking him down by his earlobe like an angry aunt or mother, somehow already halfway into a lecture about other people's business and keeping out of it, and… Lev’s head spun as he tried to process it all. Wow, Yaku-san could talk  _ fast  _ when he wanted to. 

 

Lev tried to appear as apologetic as possible and avoid Kuroo’s eyes, skirting around where Yaku-san had him bent over (poor Kuroo, his back must not be very happy right now) and going instead to watch Kenma play with one of his handheld contraptions. Kenma was smiling a little, clearly amused by the whole thing.

 

He tucked the grin away as soon as Kuroo turned to him for help though. “Come on, Kenma, you agree don't you? I’m a nice guy! I only tried to help my kouhai and my friend, that's not so bad, right?”

 

Kenma hummed. “If you say so.”

 

“Kenma!”

 

Yaku-san cuffed him on the back of his head, and then punched him in the gut for good measure. Lev bit his lip because he probably shouldn't find that funny-- it was sort of his fault Kuroo was getting it, after all-- but a little snort escaped him anyway. Kuroo glared at him, but there was no venom behind it; although, even if there was, it wouldn't have bothered Lev so much. It would hardly be a novelty, considering the things he used to say about the gods.

 

Yaku-san finally let Kuroo go. “Shouldn't you be cooking?” he demanded, brow wrinkled in exasperation. “Shouldn't you have started long before Lev and I got here? How do you expect us to eat on time?”

 

“I was on my way there when you grabbed me and started yelling in my ear you brute!” Kuroo protested. “I’m only making something quick, all right? Tempura and rice.”

 

Lev liked tempura. He said so.

 

“Mmhm.” Kenma didn't bother with more than that. Lev didn't mind. He knew it was just how Kenma was, by now.

 

“Do you need help?” Yaku-san asked, and however grudging it sounded, Lev was pretty sure it wasn't as grudging as he’d meant it to be. Yaku-san didn't like people knowing he was as soft as he was, for some reason.

 

Kuroo shook his head. “No thank you. I can handle cooking fine enough on my own. You're probably tired.” He wrinkled his nose. “And at any rate, you stink of sweat and sun. You ought to shower.”

 

Lev remembered that he too, probably smelled. He’d been training too, if what they’d done could be called that. “Kenma do I stink?”

 

“Yes.” Not a beat of hesitation.

 

“Oh.”

 

“But if you're tired, you can stay here a little longer. I don't mind.” Kenma clicked away at a few buttons. “It’s not like I'm not used to it; I played volleyball before too. You get used to the stench of sport teams eventually.”

 

“Oh that's right. Suga-san said yesterday.” Interest piqued, Lev twisted his body to face Kenma fully in rapt attention. “You know a lot about it don't you?”

 

“You only heard me say the basics,” Kenma scoffed. “But I guess. I’m better at strategy and analysis than the physical stuff.”

 

“So… are you a good player?” What was he trying to say?

 

“On my own?” Kenma shook his head. “No. I tire easily. I‘m not very strong or fast. I’m not tall by any standards. But I have a good eye. I can read people fast and tell my teammates what to do to counter them. They didn't really listen until later on though…”

 

Lev was curious and happy and startled. Kenma didn't usually talk to him that much all in one go. Lev thought it was because Kenma was a very… sleepy? No. Low-energy, that was it-- person. He was a low-energy person.

 

Lev was the opposite, so he wasn't sure, but that sounded right.

 

Yaku-san joined them a minute later, hair not dripping (he was always harping on everyone else about dripping on the floor, so of course it wasn't) but still damp. He perched himself on the couch on Kenma’s other side, and Lev pretended not to find it cute how his loose house clothes swallowed up his small figure.

 

Yaku-san poked him in the arm, and Lev was probably imagining the feeling of steam still curling off his skin, right? “Your turn, Lev. Get clean.”

 

Lev snapped to a salute. “All right, Yaku-san!”

 

He ignored Kuroo behind him, snarking at Yaku-san about something that sounded suspiciously like,  _ I'm surprised you aren't going with him. _

 

Lev’s ears burned at the thought. He would not picture that. Nope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter took so long to write you have no clue. I love Lev, but also. I hate him why is he so difficult to write?????  
> Sorry this chapter was shorter and insubstantial. Next up, we’ll have some bokuaka since we haven't seen much of them yet!!!


	4. The Midnight Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW ITS BEEN SO LONG IM SO SORRY
> 
> This chapter took ages to finish but its finally done!!! I mean, I'm posting these from a small backlog anyway so it doesn't really matter but. Anyway! Thanks Belee for listening to me ramble about the parallels I accidentally put between bo and aphrodite’s situations and how I hoped to take advanatge of that by adding more. Also for agreeing to be my beta for this chapterfic!!!! Thanks Brit for the support as always, and for reading the last chapter and liking it even when I didn't. Also!!! To Ayn who supports this AU so much and whose birthday I finished this chapter four, ily and I hope you like it!
> 
> I... did not post this for your birthday, but i did finish it and send you the doc link sorry ayn cwkdbskhddk

_ “Akaashi-san, won't you join me today? Leave these dusty scrolls behind for once. See the sun! The sakura trees are blooming beautifully, too. Maybe we can have a picnic under the ones by the lake?” _

 

_ Keiji sighed. This woman had been chasing after him for months now; almost three fourths of a year, actually. It was impressive, in its own right, but it was mostly an irritation. Keiji had lost far too much time to her antics already-- time he could have spent furthering his knowledge or helping his parents, or figuring out what to do once he’d learned what he could from his sensei. “I’m afraid not, Mitsuko-san,” he told her, doing his best not to grimace at her. “I have my studies today.” _

 

_ “You always have your studies,” she pouted. Most men, Keiji mused, would have seen the soft moue of her plump, red lips, the fan of her thick, dark lashes against her cheek, and the playful glimmer in her dark, earth-colored gaze, and gone weak at the knees. They’d probably give her anything she asked, if she asked it in this way. _

 

_ Wryly, Keiji rather thought most men would give whatever she demanded even if she did it while spitting in their faces. Mitsuko was just that beautiful, objectively. As if carved by Aphrodite herself. Not only that, but she had the dangerous sort of charisma that made it seem like when she spoke, she only spoke to you, like every word from her lips was a gilded pearl you wanted to hoard forever, a precious secret that was yours and hers alone. _

 

_ She had wit, charm, allure. Everything a man could ever want. _

 

_ … Well, everything a man other than Keiji could want. He simply did not find any interest in the other gender. It was no fault of hers, although she did grate on his nerves more often than not. _

 

_ “That is, unfortunately, the lot of a scholar, Mitsuko-san. Surely you can find yourself another escort for the evening?” She was a vain thing. Flattery worked well with her, and perhaps if he praised her a little, she’d take the victory and leave him in peace. “There are quite literally hundreds of men who would kill to spend but a minute in the grace of your beauty and intelligence.” That was a little thick, for Keiji’s tastes, and the words left an odd feeling in his mouth. They didn't fit there-- too flowery, too fancy and empty. But it was what Mitsuko liked best. _

 

_ She preened, as expected. He tried for a lopsided smile. “Ah, Akaashi-san, such a silver tongue!” She tittered, tilting her head just so, so that the light struck her figure in the most striking way possible. “But the only man I hope to catch is here, choosing academia over me…” She pursed her lips again. So it didn't work. It had always been a possibility, Keiji supposed, although he had hoped for otherwise. “Won't you come? Just for an hour?” she pleaded. _

 

_ He sighed. Resistance seemed futile, since either way he wouldn't get any real work done here if she insisted on pestering him. “Very well. Give me a little time to discuss it with my sensei.” _

 

_ He went into the back room of the library his sensei ran-- it was actually his own home, so taken over by books and scrolls and artifacts he’d collected in his pursuit for knowledge, that the only places with personal effects were the kitchen, and the small storage closet he’d placed his bed in, as well as a small desk sitting out by the door to the garden. _

 

_ It was in this bedroom-closet that Keiji stepped into. “Sensei,” he said, bowing low in respect. The man lifted his head from the scroll he was reading, seated on his bedroll.  _

 

_ “Ah, Keiji-kun,” he answered, mouth crinkling in a kind smile. “Has she come again?” _

 

_ Keiji sighed. “Yes, sensei. She wishes to borrow me for an hour.” _

 

_ “You may go,” he allowed. “Perhaps this time you should reject her outright? You never seem excited to join her, though many other boys your age might be.” He grinned again, warm and fatherly. “It’s quite all right to pursue love, if that is what you want. It is permissible, even for a scholar.” _

 

_ Keiji’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “It is hardly love, sensei. She doesn't even know me very well. I think she merely chases me for the thrill and glory.” _

 

_ “Ah, of course. The stoic, beautiful Akaashi Keiji. You would indeed be quite a prize, especially considering how many you’ve turned down before.” _

 

_ Keiji felt color fill his cheeks, knowing that even his sensei knew his reputation, but before he could even think to respond, his sensei went on: “Come to think of it, why haven't you turned this woman down yet, if you don't like her so much?” _

 

_ Keiji sighed again, absently fiddling with his fingers. “I tried, sensei. She pretends not to hear it.” _

 

_ “Ah.” _

 

_ There was no judgment nor disdain in his tone, only observation, and for that, Keiji was grateful. He would hate to have his sensei think bad on him for this, of all things. _

 

_ “Thank you, sensei,” Keiji said with a bow, since his teacher seemed to be done speaking. There was a nod, and then Keiji slipped back out to the front, resigned to his fate.  _

 

_ Mitsuko perked up as he emerged, smiling teasingly. “You took your time, Akaashi-san. I was worried your sensei had locked you up to keep you away from me.” _

 

_ That irked Keiji. His sensei was a kind, understanding man, and Mitsuko didn't even know him. Besides that, he had let Keiji entertain her so often, even when it subtracted from his study time. “Please refrain from discussing my master that way,” he said, voice steely. _

 

_ Mitsuko blinked at him, startled perhaps by the amount of firmness in his voice when he so rarely seemed ruffled. And then she recovered, waving a hand dismissively. “All right, Akaashi-san, only for you,” she said, as if it were some huge concession and not mere common courtesy. _

 

_ Keiji sighed yet again and followed her as she led the way to the lake, a small basket hanging from her arm. Keiji wasn't entirely sure where she’d gotten it-- he knew for certain she hadn't had it earlier, when she’d first come in; he would have noticed-- but he didn't feel inclined to question her.  _

 

_ That would entail a conversation he would, frankly, much rather put off if he could help it. For all her wiles, Mitsuko was terribly… boring. She was self-centered and vain, nothing but a socialite with no big ambitions other than to be at the top of the pyramid. It wasn't something Keiji shared interest in in the least. _

 

_ Why she was chasing him, he knew already (as did his sensei, apparently). Because he generally kept his composure and liked to keep most things including his emotions and ideas private, he had earned a reputation for being ‘stone cold’, though this was an inaccurate thing to say-- it wasn't like Keiji  _ didn't  _ feel. It was simply that he internalized things rather than expressing them, kept them to himself instead of revealing them to the world at large. That, however, combined with the suitors (male and female) he’d already turned down, only solidified the idea that he had an icy personality.  _

 

_ It meant that he was a challenge, a game, to people used to getting what and who they wanted-- people like Mitsuko. _

 

_ Keiji was beautiful, to a certain extent. This he knew. After all, you don't go nearly two decades of constantly being complimented and fawned over without realizing why. But surely there were others with looks beyond his own? Why was she so persistent with him? Why did she keep coming back, even when he made it clear he didn't want her? Keiji was fairly sure she wasn't the stubborn or dedicated sort; she was clearly flippant and thoughtless. He didn't mean anything to her other than another trophy-- so why was she so determined? It didn't make sense. _

 

_ … or maybe it did. Maybe it was a matter of pride. Maybe Mitsuko hadn't been turned down once in her life-- and as much as Keiji found that unlikely, it was certainly possible, given how blessed Mitsuko was in many departments. _

 

_ Keiji’s thoughts were interrupted as they finally reached the lake, and Mitsuko laid out a blanket and a small feast-- various crops and seafoods… even Keiji’s favorite, nanohana. “Please, eat, Akaashi-san,” Mitsuko said, peering up at him through her long lashes and smiling softly. _

 

_ Keiji was sure the gesture was meant to make him think of her as adorable or something, but it didn't really work. He did, however, offer a small, polite quirk of the mouth, and after saying his thanks, reached for the chopsticks she offered him and reached for one of the dishes.  _

 

_ He tasted the dish in his hands-- the nanohana, as it happened-- and then said, “This is quite delicious, Mitsuko-san. Thank you.” _

 

_ “It is of no consequence, Akaashi-san,” Mitsuko replied, but she was obviously basking in the compliment as a cat did in the sun. “Would you let me, I would gladly bring you my cooking everyday. If only you would--” _

 

_ “Mitsuko-san,” Akaashi cut in, as gently as possible. “I appreciate the effort you expend on my behalf so often--” This was partly true. He was flattered, somewhere in the back of his mind, even though he was mostly annoyed by her persistence. “--but I promise you, I will not be swayed. I simply do not have the time to be a good lover, partner… anything more than a friend to anyone. Not right now. Not in the near future.” _

 

_ For a split-second following his declaration, Mitsuko’s eyes were hard, steely. Affronted and angry.  _

 

_ Then she blinked, or maybe Keiji himself blinked-- whoever it was that blinked, what mattered was in that instant, the rage was gone from Mitsuko’s gaze, replaced by the shine of sorrow.  _

 

_ Keiji wasn't entirely sure if it had been there at all, it was gone so fast. _

 

_ “I could wait for you. I  _ would.  _ I know… I know many would tell you I am not the type, but I can be patient. I can wait many, many mortal lifetimes for you if need be.” _

 

_ Keiji noted that she said ‘mortal’ as if she were not one.  _

 

_ Nonsense. That was… unlikely. Mythic creatures were rare, and they almost never came to densely populated areas like this anyway. Or so others claimed; Keiji himself doubted they existed at all. _

 

_ “That would be a pointless exercise, I’m afraid,” Keiji answered, tone softer than he would otherwise have said it. Here she was, so willing to go to extra lengths to win him over, and it was all for naught. “I’m sorry, Mitsuko-san. I simply could never be interested in you that way.” _

 

_ It was as close to the truth as Keiji was willing to get. No one knew his preference for men over women. Not even his family. It was a secret he would take to his grave-- he refused to be shamed or beaten, to lose what little respect he had gained from others. And even if no one would look at him oddly for it… nothing would come of it. He would still be expected to take a wife. He would still be expected to help her bear children. _

 

_ And even if he did share that information… he didn't quite trust Mitsuko. They were acquaintances at most, despite Mitsuko’s efforts to further their bond. Keiji was a private person by nature-- he didn't like to share personal information until he was certain about his friendship with someone, and that took a lot of time to build, for Keiji. It had taken years for him to grow close to his circle of friends. _

 

_ “Oh.” The word escaped Mitsuko like it had been pushed out of her, like the impact of his words had forced all the air from her lungs in that single syllable. Keiji felt a little more guilt for being so cruel, but… this seemed to be the only way to get through to her. Directly. Sharply. She always ignored or deflected his other attempts to shut her down, after all. _

 

_ “May I inquire as to why?” she said, voice softer than the spring breeze around them, crackling with… something Keiji couldn't quite identify, but it felt like danger, almost.  _

 

_ Keiji forced himself to remain unruffled. “I’d rather you not, Mitsuko-san,” he said, firmly. _

 

_ “I deserve that much, don't I, Akaashi-san?” she pushed. Her tone was like spider-silk-- soft and flimsy on the surface, so strong and difficult to break when tested. _

 

_ But Akaashi could spin as well as she, and he would not be swayed. “You do not,” he said simply. “I owe you nothing. You have done all of this--” he gestured around them as if to encompass the picnic, the weeks and months of her visits, every conversation she’d teased out of him-- “by your own accord. I did not ask for it. I did not need it. In fact, I tried many a time to end it.” _

 

_ Mitsuko’s face was flushed in outrage, but she remained still, seated primly and properly, instead of lashing out at him as expected. It didn't really fit Keiji’s impression of her so far. She was a vocal person, outspoken, especially when it came to complaints and vitriol. _

 

_ Then again, she was smarter than she behaved, Keiji remembered. She was cunning and calculating, knew how to push and pull in all the right ways to leave a man wanting more, but never lacking enough to decide leaving her was easiest-- it would make sense that she could be so perceptive and strategic with other matters as well. So what was she trying to get at, that she would hold herself back? She was clearly biting her tongue to keep from insulting Keiji in return for the slight he’d made against her, so… _

 

_ Hm. So what was she aiming for? _

 

_ Ah. Keiji knew now. She still somehow held out hope that he would reconsider. If she insulted him now, there would be no going back. _

 

_ Finally, upon realizing, perhaps, that Keiji didn't intend to speak any more, she said, stiffly, “I suppose that, I cannot contest,” she admitted, and Keiji was glad she wasn't so ridiculous as to push a point she would lose anyway, though it wasn't much in the way of concessions. She still meant to put up a fight, that much was obvious. _

 

_ Keiji hoped it would at least be swift. _

 

_ “But Akaashi-san, you needn’t have strung me along so cruelly, if you intended to shut me down from the start,” she said, and she blinked her big eyes at him, batted her lashes and generally played up the girlishness of her looks.  _

 

_ “I did try not to,” Keiji compromised, because if she wanted him to shoulder a little blame before she moved on, then fine. Keiji didn't mind giving up a little pride in order to shorten this, and hopefully, finally cut it off. _

 

_ “And I cannot convince you otherwise?” she pleaded. “Are you certain? I can wait, if you wish to study first. I can--” _

 

_ “I said  _ no _ , Mitsuko-san.” Akaashi sighed, forcing his tensed muscles to uncoil. Relax. He needed to relax, not let himself get worked up over this. Him losing his temper would only make him the villain. “I simply cannot see you that way. Your efforts will be wasted on me.” _

 

 _Mitsuko’s_ _face suddenly went marble-hard-- still and cold and almost terrible. “You should think carefully, Akaashi-san. I have won over every great man and woman of history. I am the lover of lovers, the beauty of beauties.”_

 

_ Akaashi blinked at her sudden outright arrogance. So this was her true face? _

 

_ No. Wait. _

 

_ Even as he stared at her, one moment, she was the Mitsuko he knew-- dark raven hair an inky curtain against her back, obsidian eyes like the new moon-- and the next, she was someone else entirely; now, she had hazel eyes that burned golden in the sunlight, her hair cascading in lovely little ringlets the color of wheat against her freckled skin. _

 

_ And even that was short lived. It seemed between every blink, she was a different person. Dark-haired, fair, slender, curvaceous, tanned, tall, short; but every form was beautiful, in its own way. _

 

_ And Keiji knew then, that this… this was not just beauty, but  _ Beauty _. _

 

_ This was Aphrodite herself. _

 

_ And Keiji had turned her down. _

 

_ “I, who have bedded gods, seduced heroes and gods alike-- I, who granted Helen of Troy enough of my gifts to begin a war, who won her over for Paris with no more energy that it would take you to swat at a fly-- you would have the pride, the  _ hubris  _ to reject me?” Her face was both lovely and terrible, her voice moreso. _

 

_ A flower that drew you in, drew you closer with its enchanting petals and scent-- whose poison promised a slow and painful death. _

 

_ “I think not, Akaashi Keiji.” _

 

/////

 

Keiji had been here for half a month now, and so far he wasn't sure what to make of Bokuto Koutarou. He knew the man got mood swings, though it was easy to fish him out of his low moods. His high moods were less manageable, but Keiji couldn't say in good conscience that he didn't find them at least somewhat amusing.

 

He knew Bokuto played that volleyball sport same as all his other friends, that he had once captained a team (Keiji rather thought he was a little too disorganized to be a leader, but he understood why; Bokuto had a charisma and passion in him that was inspiring), and that he had been an ‘ace’ of his team, whatever that meant. Apparently, he’d also been in the top five aces in the country for his age group. That was certainly impressive.

 

He knew that Bokuto liked yakiniku and owls and mornings (Keiji did not share that sentiment). He knew that he was a loyal, supportive friend, childish at times, and capable of more maturity than expected at others. He wore his hair gelled up like the horns of an owl, it was naturally streaked gray (somehow) and he could be louder than anything Keiji had ever heard. He was trusting and strong, liked anything to do with exercise…

 

But Keiji couldn't shake his wariness anymore than he could shake the moon down from the sky.

 

Bokuto either didn't notice his hesitance to trust him, or didn't care. Keiji suspected it was the former; he did seem rather oblivious more often than not. 

 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, from where he was sprawled on his stomach across the bed, supposedly doing homework. “I don't understand any of this.”

 

Akaashi sighed. “Bokuto-san, I come from a different time period entirely. I don't think I can help you.” He got up anyway, though he did wonder why Bokuto even thought he would be of use in the first place. It's not like he didn't know Keiji was still trying to get up to what they called ‘high school’ level, in this age.

 

Bokuto made room for him to sit on the edge of the bed, scooting sidewards (the sheet would need to be tucked in again later). Keiji perched gingerly on the edge and leaned over to see the book Bokuto had open. “Bokuto-san, this is science. It's more advanced than anything I've ever learned,” he said quietly, eyes scanning the explanations even as he spoke.

 

“Augh, but you’re like, super smart and schol-- scoliosis-y?”

 

Keiji paused his reading to turn to Bokuto. “Scholarly, you mean?”

 

“Yeah!” Bokuto nodded eagerly. “That! You study real well, and you learn fast, and you sound like a genius when you talk, so!”

 

Keiji sighed. It couldn't be helped, he supposed. Whatever Bokuto was trying to get out of him, Keiji supposed this time, he could afford to give it. It might help him understand his own lessons better, after all. “Very well, what do you know so far, Bokuto-san?”

 

“It’s… about genetics? And inheritance…?” Bokuto paused. “That’s… kinda it.”

 

Well. That wasn't much, but it was a start, Keiji supposed. Not that he knew any better, but this wasn’t something he was meant to know yet, so that was fine. “What is genetics then? Define it for me.”

 

“Um… Genetics is about the genes-- the thingies that hold. Like. Data.”

 

Keiji raised an eyebrow.

 

“Waitwaitwait, I wrote this down-- it’s the data we inherit. Stuff like hair color. And eye color. Or propensity for diseases-- did I use that word right?”

 

“Propensity, you mean?” Keiji asked.

 

Bokuto nodded.

 

“Yes, you did.” Keiji read a little more, processed the information, then prompted, “What else can you tell me about it?”

 

They went back and forth like this for a while; Keiji nudged Bokuto onward with guiding questions and checking his answers in the text as he read. He found that Bokuto knew more than even he himself thought he knew, it just needed to be teased out of him with the right cues. Keiji would think it over later and suggest another method of study than the one he’d been using, maybe, so he needn’t ask for help from others so often when he had a test coming up or homework due.

 

Eventually, Bokuto decided he was ready to take a crack at the actual worksheet again, and Keiji left him to it, excusing himself to go to the restroom and then maybe fix himself a cup of tea.

 

/////

 

Bokuto finished his work, and then he went out for a victory run. He asked Keiji if he wanted to come along, but Keiji declined. He still wasn't comfortable enough alone with him to choose it when he had any other option. Besides, he could use the thinking time the silence would provide him.

 

So far, Bokuto had been the perfect gentleman. He backed off any time Keiji asked him to, rarely ever flirted, and always apologized for it after when Keiji inevitably shut him down, sometimes cruelly quick. He never seemed to mind, and Keiji felt a little bad about it-- but Keiji’s position on romance remained unchanged even all this time later. He had other concerns that took precedence: finishing his studies, finding a purpose in life, satisfying his curiosities. Now, he had to add navigating a new, modern world to the list too.

 

Even putting all that aside, it was romance that had gotten him into this mess; well, that was unfair. It wasn't romance so much as someone pursuing him romantically, and even then, it was less that and more of the overwhelming pride of a goddess and her outrage at his rejection after all the chasing she’d done.

 

But still.

 

Besides that, Keiji couldn't help but be cautious. He hadn't realized Aphrodite was… well…  _ Aphrodite _ until it was too late (though that would hardly have changed his response to her pursuits, the knowledge might have at least allowed him to phrase it better). He didn't want to let his guard down or make assumptions, only to suffer later for it. So although he was relatively certain that Bokuto Koutarou wasn't a threat… Keiji wasn't ready to trust him yet, much less to respond favorably to his sometimes clumsy, sometimes sweet attempts to woo him.

 

But though he kept waiting for the inevitable backlash, for the outburst that proved that, yes, Keiji was right to be wary… none came.

 

That wasn't as much a relief as it could have been. It was still early on in their acquaintanceship after all. It had taken half a year before Aphrodite had snapped, there was nothing to indicate this Bokuto Koutarou could not be so patient (but Keiji did think it was improbable; more often than not, Bokuto seemed prone to rashness, recklessness-- patience seemed missing from his vocabulary entirely).

 

Still…

 

Keiji’s thoughts were interrupted by the ring of a cellphone-- Bokuto's, Keiji thought, though he wasn't certain. The ringtone was pretty distinctive though, and Keiji was fairly sure he was right. Should he pick it up? What if it was an emergency?

 

Then again, that seemed like an invasion of privacy. Almost like opening a letter addressed to another, or eavesdropping on someone else's conversation.

 

He wished Bokuto had remembered to bring it, but the other man was often airheaded enough to forget things like this when he was too focused on other thoughts, so Keiji wasn't surprised he did. That was another thing, actually, that pointed to the unlikelihood of an ulterior motive in Bokuto's case. Keiji had once heard his team recount the story of the time he forgot how to spike entirely in the middle a of a volleyball game. How someone could forget something they were so obviously passionate and proud about, that they practiced so often, that they had been doing mere  _ moments  _ before, Keiji didn't know-- but someone capable of doing just that couldn't possibly hold an hidden agenda in mind every time they had interactions with Keiji, right?

 

Then again, Oikawa put on a similarly harmless facade-- he pretended to be shallow and charming, but Keiji had witnessed firsthand how truly cunning Oikawa could be.

 

Although… Bokuto didn't have that same spark of cold calculation in his eyes, or that spiteful brattiness that sometimes shone through when Oikawa was at his most manipulative (or so Keiji had been told, by Sugawara).

 

Eventually, the phone stopped ringing entirely. Keiji braced himself to sit through another phone call (he was pretty sure he’d seen Kozume mute a call before instead of picking it up, but Keiji wasn't entirely certain how to do it, and he didn't want to wind up answering by mistake), but none came.

 

At least now, Keiji knew it wasn't urgent.

 

Keiji knew he tended to overthink things, and the fact that, in one of the rare times he didn't have his overexcitable benefactor (for lack of a better word) around, he immediately resorted to scrutinizing the man’s every intent and action was… shamefully ungrateful, to say the least. His thoughts were quickly becoming circular as well.

 

He should really find something else to do, instead of stewing like this. Also, he’d picked at his fingers too much; the skin around his nails felt a little raw.

 

A scholar at heart, it wasn't long before Keiji went to retrieve the books Yaku had been kind enough to lend him, as well as the cheap notebook Bokuto had bought for him to scrawl notes in and a pen to write in it with. He settled back on the sofa, finding that now that he had the luxury of choosing a spot of comfort to study in-- as opposed to sitting hunched over a low table, with only a threadbare cushion beneath him for hours on end-- he almost always chose to do so here, on this couch. It was a very soft one, if well-worn, and the only other alternative was the dining table or the bed-- the table was fine, though the chairs weren't nearly as nice to sit on for so long, but the bed was much too tied into sleeping and truly relaxing (as it should be) for Keiji to be able to focus if he did it there.

 

Anyway.

 

Keiji cracked the book open to the ribbon he’d used as a bookmark, and he began to read, hands jotting down key points to remember as he went along. Later, he would need to review it, rewrite his notes in a more orderly fashion. He’d add details, opinions, analyses… process the information so that it stuck, like chewing a piece of food properly so that the body could absorb nutrients well.

 

Before he knew it, there was the sound of keys in the lock, followed by the door opening and Bokuto's greeting hoots-- there was really no other way to describe the noises he made. He really did like to hoot like the owl he so seemed to admire, if the fact that he even styled his hair in imitation of the creature was any indication at all.

 

“I brought food, Akaashi!” Bokuto announced, thumping around the genkan as he likely  _ literally  _ kicked his shoes off and left them where they landed, as he tossed his keys into the little dish by the front and let the door slam shut behind him.

 

Akaashi sighed internally. He’d need to clean that up, later. Bokuto certainly wouldn't do it, and he felt a little bad for Oikawa, who Akaashi often noticed meticulously fixing things to be presentable-- at least in the areas visitors saw.

 

For now, he asked, “What food?”

 

“Dinner,” Bokuto said, as if Akaashi couldn't surmise at least that much himself.

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san, but what food?” He asked again, hoping this time, the point would be clear.

 

Bokuto blinked, as if confused. Then his eyes glinted with realization. “Oh. Just some ramen. There's a cheap place near where I like to run, so.”

 

He set down a small plastic bag down on the table, containing what Akaashi presumed was the aforementioned ramen. “Bokuto-san,” he called, to the figure already halfway to the bathroom. “There's only two servings. What about Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san?”

 

“Ah, I ran into them there, actually. They were eating already. They’ll be back soon, I think. Oikawa just wanted to show Iwaizumi something. Dunno what though.”

 

“Ah. I see.”

 

Akaashi moved into the kitchen, opening up the cabinets and pulling out the bowls and chopsticks, the spoons for the soup… Then he went back into the dining room to get the ramen, and as it was still fairly warm, transferred the food directly into their dishes. 

 

These, he carried back to the dining table, where he sat patiently, waiting for Bokuto. It would be rude, after all, for him to start without the other, especially when Bokuto had been so kind as to buy the food for him-- as he had up until now, obviously. Akaashi had yet to find a job, though he hoped to soon. He didn't want to owe Bokuto more than he had to. 

 

He was very hungry though.

 

With another sigh, Akaashi returned to the coffee table to grab his book. Maybe if he picked up where he left off, he would be able to distract himself from the food before him.

 

It was a scant ten minutes later that Bokuto emerged from the shower, wearing nothing but his sweatpants slung low on his hips--

 

Akaashi steadfastly refused to look his way.

 

“Bokuto-san, please put on a shirt. It is cold tonight,” he said, as levelly as he could manage.

 

“But my shower was so  _ hot,  _ Akaashi!”

 

“I keep telling you not to raise the temperature so much. Now go. At least a sleeveless one.”

 

With a grumble, Bokuto went to do as he was told. Akaashi let himself relax-- for all that Akaashi was wary, he could hardly help his physical attraction to the man, much less when… he did things like that.

 

Once he returned (wearing a very flimsy top that Akaashi supposed was better than nothing at least), they settled into their places and said their thanks before digging in.

 

It was fairly good, actually, though Bokuto was busy explaining to Akaashi how cheap it was, really, so the ingredients and stuff weren't top tier or anything, but it was filling and…

 

Akaashi allowed himself to mostly tune out Bokuto’s rambling, since there didn't seem to be any matters of importance in what he was saying, and the background noise-- the lilt and cadence of his words, the rough, raspy tone of his voice-- was pleasant enough.

 

And then Bokuto launched into a story about how Sugawara’s high school team manager had come by to see one of their matches, and how she had been  _ so pretty  _ and everyone had been a flustered mess in her presence, all except for Bokuto, apparently.

 

“Not me though!” Bokuto was saying. “I live with you, after all, and you're just  _ beautiful _ , so of course I'm basically immune already!”

 

It was a compliment, but it made Keiji’s stomach turn with dread. Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry at all; even though he’d only had maybe a third of his ramen, he didn't think he could stomach anymore. Not if… not if Bokuto was doing it to get to him. To court him. Whatever they called it these days. 

 

This scene? The food, the adulation… it was far too reminiscent of that day he’d met Mitsuko and learned her to be Aphrodite, the day he’d lost his old life. Maybe the time of day was different. Maybe the season was wrong. Maybe they were indoors instead of out, sitting on Western-style chairs instead of the floor, and maybe Bokuto had bought food instead of cooked it. But still.

 

Could it be that Bokuto was after him for his looks after all? For the victory of claiming him when Aphrodite herself couldn't? Keiji didn't want to believe that, but...

 

He pushed his bowl away from him. “Bokuto-san,” he said, cutting off the praise falling freely from his host’s lips. He didn't need the flattery. He didn't want the flattery.

 

He was tired of being chased.

 

Bokuto blinked at him inquiringly. “Yeah?”

 

“I cannot…” Keiji swallowed, clicking the chopsticks together for lack of anything better to do with his hands. “I am very thankful for everything you've done for me and all that you’ve given me…”

 

Bokuto, for once, didn't try to speak up or react. He just waited, patiently, for Keiji to finish. He looked confused though, if the little wrinkle in his brow was anything to go by.

 

“But I cannot…” Perhaps direct was the best way to say it. “I hope you aren't expecting a romantic relationship to come of all this.” Keiji said.

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

Slowly, Bokuto began, “That's okay. That's fine. This is just dinner, Akaashi, why--” He stopped. “Oh.”

 

“‘Oh’?” Keiji echoed.

 

“When you were all telling us about your pasts, right? You said Aphrodite, she-- she made you a big picnic. She told you nice things. She… does this remind you of that?” Bokuto didn't look or sound offended, but then, neither had Mitsuko--

 

Bokuto smiled-- beamed, actually-- and nudged Keiji’s food towards him again. “Don't worry, ‘Kaashi! You can say ‘no’ to anything. I’ll listen! I won't flirt with you or nothing, if you don't want me to!” And then his eyes softened, and he added, softer, “I mean, you're pretty and smart and everything else I said earlier, but you're a person, too. You have a choice-- and relationships aren't any fun unless everyone involved is having fun. You can't have fun if you don't want to be in it.”

 

Keiji wasn't sure how to respond to that. Not really. It wasn't what he’d expected to hear, and not quite what he’d hoped for either. He’d hoped Bokuto didn't want him after all, that maybe he was the sort of man that wanted a woman, or that Keiji wasn't his type-- but knowing that even though Bokuto wanted to pursue Keiji, he would respect Keiji’s decision on the matter… that was enough.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, finally, as he reached for his food again and resumed eating.

 

Bokuto laughed. “No problem! So anyway, I have more stories! Wanna hear ‘em?”

 

“Sure, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Okay, well, just the other day, right, while you were in class…”

 

Keiji let the sound of Bokuto’s voice wash over him, felt the warmth of ramen settle in his stomach, and wondered if maybe, he could trust this man after all.

 

/////

 

The next morning, Oikawa and Bokuto left for practice same as always, leaving Keiji with only Iwaizumi for company.

 

He didn't mind it much. Iwaizumi was a kind man, helpful and reliable, and much more pleasant to be around than the other two housemates for the sole reason of being less chaotic.

 

“Iwaizumi-san, would you like some tea?” Keiji was making himself a cup, so it seemed like common courtesy to ask the other if he’d like some as well.

 

“Ah, yeah. Thank you.”

 

“No problem.”

 

There followed a few seconds of quiet as the water boiled in the little kettle. When it was done, Keiji steeped the tea leaves in their cups before bringing them both to the coffee table, where Iwaizumi sat, watching the news playing on television screen.

 

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi said, reaching for his cup. He blew lightly across the surface.

 

“Of course, Iwaizumi-san.” Keiji took a seat beside him, eyes flickering briefly to the screen-- some headline about a government scandal was on-- before settling on the steam wafting up from his own drink. Last night’s thoughts were still swirling around his head, clogging up his mind and making everything feel foggy. Keiji wasn't entirely sure what to do with it; he had assumed he’d already settled somewhat, in his decision to see how things unfolded, but it seemed that with a new dawn came new anxieties-- well, actually, that wasn't entirely correct either. They weren't new at all. They were simply repackaged, rehashed versions of their predecessors.

 

In short? Keiji was back where he’d begun.

 

Iwaizumi struck him as a fairly wise man-- maybe he could grant Keiji some insight? Even if not, vocalizing his concerns might help him come up with a solution.

 

Then again, how much could Keiji trust Iwaizumi? True, they were in roughly the same situation right now. They came from a different time, had landed in the same arrangement. But what did he really know about Iwaizumi and who he had been-- who he was?

 

But who else could he talk to?

 

Eventually, Keiji shoved aside his doubts and spoke up. “What do you think of all this?”

 

Iwaizumi didn't look away from the television, though Keiji doubted he completely understood the significance of whatever was being discussed any more than Keiji himself did.

 

They were strangers to this world, after all.

 

“This?”

 

“This situation,” Keiji clarified. “The modern era, the people who we find ourselves indebted to.”

 

Iwaizumi twisted his head a little to make eye contact with Keiji. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me because you actually wanna know, kid, or because you have something on your mind?”

 

Keiji mirrored his expression. “We’re only a year apart, Iwaizumi-san, ‘kid’ is a little much, isn't it?”

 

Iwaizumi didn't respond, waiting patiently instead for Keiji to properly answer his question. With a sigh, Keiji said, “Both, I suppose.”

 

Iwaizumi hummed, taking in that information. “Well, it all feels a little… odd to me. It's only been two weeks but--” he paused to sip at his tea-- “somehow it feels like we’ve been here for longer, if that makes sense.”

 

“Ah.” Keiji understood. He felt the same. It seemed so soon, they already had routines, basic knowledge that Keiji had expected to take longer to pick up.

 

Did that mean the world had changed much less than expected? Or that they were good at adapting?

 

Or did it speak more for the abilities of their hosts at guiding them, than to the abilities of the starboys themselves?

 

“It seems unreal-- Zeus warned me when he freed me that there would be no help awaiting me,” Iwaizumi continued, and Keiji suspected he was only doing it to encourage Keiji to elaborate more himself. “And yet, what happens but I crash right in front of Oikawa, who has helped us this much?”

 

Iwaizumi clearly had no problem trusting their benefactors, though Keiji had a feeling he wasn't doing so blindly, at least.

 

“So?” Iwaizumi prompted. “What's on your mind, Akaashi?”

 

Keiji took a drink of his own tea, contemplating how best to answer. There was a  _ lot  _ on his mind, and he didn't want to burden Iwaizumi with all of it-- so what was the most pressing? “I have been… thinking a lot about our arrangement lately-- now that the original shock and urgency has faded, I find myself unable to do anything but overthink it.” His fingers tapped an absent-minded tattoo into the ceramic of his cup. After a beat of hesitation, he added, “I simply have a hard time believing that Bokuto and the others are doing this with no… expectations.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“I suppose... exactly that. I feel like by the time we are independent, we will have a debt to pay to them-- and I don't think I can abide that feeling.” Keiji sighed. That wasn't much clearer, was it?

 

Still, Iwaizumi seemed to get the gist of what Keiji meant to say. “You don't want to accept their help if you don't know the price. That's what you're saying, right?”

 

Keiji blinked. That was… it exactly, actually, though he hadn't thought of it in those terms before.

 

“What if there isn't a price?”

 

“There always is, Iwaizumi-san. I learned that the hard way.”

 

Iwaizumi scowled. “Aphrodite is hardly everyone, and she had no right to you to begin with. No one does, not unless  _ you _ decide they do.” He reached for the remote, shut off the television, and then turned his body to fully face Keiji. “Surely there were others in your life that helped you only because they wanted to?”

 

“Of course there were. But how do we know these people are doing it for that reason?” Keiji set the cup down and laced his fingers together. “So far, everything points to them doing this out of the goodness of their hearts, but then, I have known many people where that seemed to be the case up until it wasn't. I don't want to find out too late-- not here, now, where I have no connections, no resources, other than what they give me.”

 

Iwaizumi considered that for a few seconds. And then he reached out and squeezed Keiji’s shoulder comfortingly. “You just have to learn to trust them, Akaashi. And anyway, you aren't entirely alone-- You have me, and Kuroo, Lev and Daichi. We’re in the same boat,” he said. “Always will be. All right?”

 

It didn't… entirely make Keiji feel better, but it did reassure him a bit. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.” 

 

“No problem. Now, I'm starting to feel hungry. Should we start cooking?”

 

/////

 

Bokuto was the first one to return from his classes (he apparently only had two that day), bursting through the front door with a, “Hey hey hey! I'm back from class!”

 

“Welcome back,” Iwaizumi called, drying off the last of the dishes and Keiji wiped his dripping hands on a towel.

 

Bokuto took off his shoes and wandered into the kitchen to join them “Oh, is there food?” He was already opening the fridge to look, so Keiji wasn't sure why he'd bothered asking.

 

“We just finished eating,” Keiji replied anyway. “But there should be some on the table still.”

 

“Oya oya?”

 

Keiji stared at him, baffled. What was that supposed to mean?

 

Bokuto merely grinned at him, and then grabbed himself some dishes and went to eat. “Thank you for the food!”

 

“No problem,” Iwaizumi responded, as he headed into his and Oikawa’s room-- he and Keiji had put off changing out of their pajamas until after eating, so Keiji assumed that was what Iwaizumi meant to do.

 

Keiji, meanwhile, decided to keep Bokuto company as he ate. It could help him assuage his worries if he got to know Bokuto better, if he could understand him as much as possible. “How was class, Bokuto-san?”

 

Bokuto lifted his head, beaming at Keiji through a mouth full of rice and beef. He finished chewing before he spoke, though, thank goodness. “Good! I actually understood things for once, thanks Akaash’.”

 

Keiji’s brow wrinkled quizzically. Thanks? “For what, Bokuto-san?”

 

“Well, it's because--” Bokuto paused to swallow down another clump of food-- “the whole time I was kinda thinking about how you helped me study my homework last time. The way you prompted me an’ stuff.” He waved his chopsticks around, as if that could somehow help communicate his point.

 

It didn't.

 

“I started prompting myself the way you prompted me. It helped me learn better,” Bokuto said, finally.

 

Keiji blinked, felt a slow heat creep into his cheeks, though he didn't know why. “That's good to hear, Bokuto-san. Glad I could help.”

 

“Yeah! You did!” Bokuto stood and dumped his dishes in the sink-- Keiji knew he meant to wash them later but would forget like he always did, leaving Keiji to remind him or just do it himself-- and then patted (slapped) Keiji across the back on his way to their room. “Hey hey, you should get dressed so I can show you around some more! There’s a great museum that Oikawa’s like, obsessed with…”

 

/////

 

The museum was lovely, Keiji had to admit. He and Iwaizumi were currently looking over the Grecian exhibit, where they held artifacts and displays about the time when Japan had still been heavily influenced by the Greeks-- in other words, the exhibit about their old life.

 

“It was a long time ago, wasn't it?”

 

Keiji didn't bother responding. He didn't think Iwaizumi was waiting for him to anyway.

 

“Hey, hey, Akaashi, Iwa,” Bokuto said, bounding over. “Is everything they say here true?”

 

“What do you mean, Bokuto-san?”

 

“Is it all correct? Like when they say that jar there was used for this and that-- is it true?”

 

“Mostly.” Keiji shrugged. “You can hardly expect them to get everything right. There is a lot of information and tradition that never makes it down onto paper or passed on through generations. It gets forgotten unless you lived through it,” he explained. “Besides, time erodes things, takes away markings or distinctions, oftentimes.”

 

“Oh.” Bokuto went uncharacteristically silent for a few seconds, examining the same urn Iwaizumi and Keiji had been looking at. “What kind of stuff gets forgotten? You should tell me some of it.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because ‘m curious, Agashiee!” 

 

Iwaizumi chuckled at Bokuto’s pout, saying, “Well, it can't hurt, can it?” He scratched at his jaw absently.”

 

Keijii’s glare was weary and baleful, but with a sigh, he nodded. “Very well, Bokuto-san. Is there anything in particular you want to know about?”

 

Bokuto hummed as he considered the question. “What about that?” He pointed at the display of chitons, the loose, fine fabric that hung from the mannequins in their glass case. “Did you really wear that stuff?”

 

“The chitons? Not me, no.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

“Some people I knew did. Mostly the younger people, and mostly women, though some men wore it too. I think most people preferred kimonos and yukatas, however.” 

 

“Really? But those are so cool!”

 

Keiji blinked at him. “Not so much, unless you mean ‘cool’ in the literal sense, Bokuto-san. They're really just one big square of fabric. Much like a tablecloth.”

 

Bokuto’s head swiveled around so he could stare, wide-eyed, at Keiji in disbelief. “Wait, really?”

 

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Keiji sighed. He gestured with one hand at the display. “They do say so on the sign. The guide earlier mentioned this as well.”

 

“I didn't read the sign though!”

 

Keiji raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you did not listen to the speaker either?”

 

“Why would I? Everything is on the signs anyway!”

 

“You say that,” muttered Keiji, “But you just admitted to not reading the signs.”

 

“I read some of them! Akaaaaasheee!” Bokuto pursed his lips for about one second before beaming again, so bright Keiji was tempted to cover his eyes. “Besides! I have you to tell me about the stuff!” He glanced at Iwaizumi. “And Iwa too!”

 

Iwaizumi actually laughed at that. “Oh, don't mind me, Bokuto. I was not a scholar like Akaashi was, I don't know nearly as much as he.”

 

Keiji flushed. “Please stop.” He… was not entirely sure what he wanted them to stop, to be honest, but… he wanted them to stop. It was embarrassing, being the focus of their attention.

 

Iwaizumi grinned and gripped his shoulder, and then he said, “We should probably head home, I think. Oikawa will throw a tantrum if he finds out we were here without him, won't he?”

 

Bokuto snickered, “He would, he so would. C’mon then, or we’ll miss the train!”

 

And as Keiji followed in Bokuto and Iwaizumi’s footsteps, dodging around crowds and trying to keep up with the new pace of this new world, he realized one major difference between Bokuto and Aphrodite: while Aphrodite had always dismissed his thirst for knowledge as pointless in the face of her affections, Bokuto admired it, supported it-- actually looked to learn from it.

 

And it made… it made Keiji feel good.


	5. The Sentry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been ages since I touched this WIP i'm so sorry. Anyway, i've had this chapter finished for a while, but only recently had it betaed. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sticking around this long.

_ Daichi watched Michimiya with no small amount of longing. He’d been friends with her since childhood, had stood by her as she grew into someone brave and kind and smart. He had smiled and reassured her when she’d worried and fretted about her decision to make the oath. _

 

_ The oath. _

 

_ Maybe if he had simply stayed quiet-- but no. He couldn't have. That would have been selfish, cruel even. She had wanted to serve Artemis, and do so completely, wholeheartedly, and what could Daichi have done but support her? _

 

_ Even though the oath meant he could never love her, really. She’d promised herself and her goddess chastity. Which meant no romance. No lingering touches. No family but the one she was born with. _

 

_ Ah, but even then… Daichi could not help but love her, at least from afar. She was hardworking, dedicated… passionate. Everything she did spoke of the burning fire in her heart and her earnest desire to give everyone-- from the acolytes under her care to the goddess they all served-- the very best she could give. _

 

_ “Sawamura!” _

 

_ She’d spotted him. He must have lingered too long, as always. Still, he smiled. “Hello, Michimiya,” he greeted, waving a hand. “How are you?” _

 

_ “Same as yesterday! Tired but happy!” Michimiya’s grin was proof of this-- wide and uninhibited, blinding as the moon so often linked to the deity she prayed to: Artemis, The Huntress and The Maiden. Her eyes, crinkling at the corners from the size of her smile, were shadowed underneath. She probably hadn't been sleeping, so worked up as she got. “It is her festival, after all.”  _

 

_ “That's good to hear. I hope you're taking care of yourself as well.” She probably wasn't. Daichi would have to check in on her later around suppertime, maybe cook a little extra… no. He didn’t have the money for that. He could stand to eat a little less tonight, then; he certainly wouldn't make the twins give up their food. They were growing kids, they needed all the nutrition they could get. _

 

_ Michimiya flushed, giggling slightly. “Ah, maybe… not as much as I should be. I will, though!” she hastened to add, before Daichi even had time to furrow his brow. “The celebration ends tonight. I’ll rest then.” _

 

_ Daichi sighed, but he offered a rueful smile. “You should. You’ve more than earned it. I’m sure your goddess would tell you the same, if she knew what you’ve done for her.” _

 

_ Michimiya’s eyes went round as more color filled her cheeks. Her gaze darted away, latched onto something just behind Daichi-- but when Daichi turned to see just what was bothering her, he found nothing but what he already knew was there; it was the same river, the same slope on the opposite bank with the loose dirt you could never trust to support you if you climbed. (And they had, many times as young children-- it had left them with scrapes and bruises, with mud smudged on their clothes and tears in their eyes even as there was laughter and stubbornness in the set of their mouths.) _

 

_ He frowned. “What is it, Michimiya?” he asked finally, as he turned back to face her. _

 

_ “Oh!” She started, shaking her head rapidly (she’d always been a bad liar, Daichi thought fondly). “Nothing at all!” She smiled brightly-- and this, at least was an honest joy; Daichi wouldn't press her then. If it wasn't upsetting her, he would wait for her to choose to be honest with him. _

 

_ “Ah, is that so,” he said. He nodded. “Well, I should go-- the twins will be waiting on me. Will you be at the temple again tonight?” _

 

_ She bobbed her head in affirmation, and after he’d promised to drop by with some of today's dinner (and insisting that he would, despite her protests), he began the quick journey homeward. _

 

_ The twins greeted him ecstatically-- as if he hadn't just left them for a short while with Ikejiri while he went to work at the construction site for a few hours, and instead left them for years. Daichi chuckled and ruffled their hair, hugged them close and swung them around until they giggled and begged him to stop lest they throw up. _

 

_ He thanked Ikejiri for bringing them back after closing up his tavern, especially since the establishment was on the other side of town from the site of Daichi’s work-- it was simple work, and it paid well, but it was exhausting and physically demanding. If he had to go all that way to fetch the kids, and then return home, Daichi was sure his body would give out before he was even past his 25th winter. _

 

_ “No problem,” Ikejiri said, as he always did. “The boys are great, and they help out a lot don't they?” _

 

_ “We do, we do!”  _

 

_ “Daichi-nii!!! We do!” _

 

_ “Yes! Ask Ikeijiri-nii, he says we’re very very good help!” _

 

_ “He said next time he wants to have us help some more!” _

 

_ Daichi doubted that, but Ikejiri was smiling at him honestly enough, and having to switch his attention back and forth between the girls was making him dizzy, not to mention the yells... So he laughed, and said, “All right, all right. I believe you girls.” _

 

_ He offered Ikejiri a seat at their table, offered to cook him some dinner as well, but his friend declined. His wife was waiting, he said, and there were some leftovers from today's dishes that needed finishing. He waved, and then he was gone. _

 

_ Daichi turned back to the twins. “So who wants to help with dinner?” _

 

_ By the time the food was cooked and eaten (with a portion set aside for Michimiya, with the excuse to Daichi’s surprisingly observant twins-- they got it from him, apparently-- that he’d eaten a bit with his friends from the construction site before fetching them), it was late. Plenty enough time that Michimiya could easily have eaten already, but he didn't think that was the case. Sometimes she got so absorbed in doing these other things that she neglected herself and… _

 

_ Well, there was a reason Daichi constantly checked on her. _

 

_ He scooped the remaining portion of the stew into a clay bowl, and then after tucking the twins into bed and making them promise to sleep, he left for the temple.  _

 

_ He found her waiting outside, to his surprise. She hadn't seen him yet, where he was, still far enough away as not to draw her attention, so he slowed to a stop to drink in the sight of her. Backlit by the candles and torches of the temple, clad in her flowing chiton that draped against the dip of her waist and the flare of her hip in such a wonderful way, hugged her like a flower’s petals right before it bloomed… she had her head tilted back to the stars, a smile on her lips. She looked happy. Almost giddy, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she could skip or dance away at any moment.  _

 

_ Daichi would gladly have sat back and watched her all his life. _

 

_ But he did come bearing food for her, and it was quickly cooling in the night air, so-- “Michimiya,” he called, raising one hand in a wave. _

 

_ Michimiya whirled to face him, eyes wide, mouth a soft ‘o’ in shock. And then she grinned. “Daichi!” she shrieked, running at him, leaping-- _

 

_ The clay shattered against the pavement, his hands instinctively coming up to catch her around the waist. He could smell the the stew-- the precious little chicken meat he’d boiled into it, the stock he’d saved so carefully, where it pooled in a puddle at their feet. “Michimiya-- Yui-- what--” _

 

_ And then her mouth was on his. Daichi froze, and then he melted, raising one hand to cup her cheek as he mimicked the movement of her lips-- _

 

_ Wait. They couldn't-- _

 

_ Daichi reeled back, and Michimiya’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a sweet and lovely view, like butterfly wings quietly stirring into flight against her cheeks. And then they flung wide, as round and startled as Daichi’s own. Her face turned ruddy, fingers flying up to cover it. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I--” _

 

_ “Michimiya-- the oath-- your oath--” Daichi stammered, elated and amazed and yet so, so afraid. Why had she done that? What would she pay for it? _

 

_ “Oh! No, no I should've told you first, I really should have, I just got so excited--” Michimiya cut herself off with a clap of her hands to her face, loud enough to echo. Daichi’s eyes grew wider, and he set her down, taking her wrists in his grip in case she would do it again. There were red imprints forming… how hard had she hit herself? “All right,” she said, much more composed. “All right. Daichi, she let me go!” _

 

_ “I-- What?” _

 

_ Michimiya’s smile was brilliant, beautiful. Daichi had never been more in love-- she was so  _ radiant _. “I asked Artemis to free me from my commitment, I-- Daichi I know I wasn't supposed to, and I really hope you feel the same as I, or this will be for naught but-- Daichi, I fell in love with you.” _

 

_ She… she what? _

 

_ And she thought… he didn't return the sentiment? _

 

_ “It’s just… you’ve always been there for me, steady and capable and wonderful. You never forced me to do anything, but you never let me suffer longer than I had to. You're so  _ good _ , Daichi, and how can I help but love such a good man?” She bit her lip, averting her gaze. “Say you feel the same… only if you do, of course. I couldn't-- you don't need to lie, for my sake.” _

 

_ And Daichi couldn't find the words to tell her-- after so long of holding them in, he didn't know how to let them go. So instead, he pulled her close, and kissed her soundly on the mouth.  _ I love you too,  _ he said, in the movement of his lips, in the skating of her tongue across hers.  _ Always have.

 

_ When they finally parted, chest heaving, lungs straining for air, mouths stretched in wide grins they couldn't contain, Daichi stroked Michimiya’s cheek, cupped it in his palm. “I never thought I could have you,” he told her, a secret carefully held out, his entire heart tied with a bow and presented for her to take. “But I’ve loved you for  _ so long _ , Michimiya--” _

 

_ “Yui,” she breathed, cutting in. “Yui, please.” _

 

_ “Yui then,” he said, flushing slightly at the intimacy of it, at how right it felt on his tongue. “This feels so unreal. Tell me this isn't a dream.” _

 

_ “Well,” she started, laughing a little. “I don't think you’d be cruel enough to dream my slippers getting soaked in stew.” _

 

_ Daichi paused, only then remembering the food he’d brought her for dinner. “Oh. Mi-- Yui, I'm so sorry, that was your dinner, and--” _

 

_ She giggled, waving it off. “No, no it’s all right! I shouldn't have run at you without warning, really, and anyhow, I did manage to eat a bit at the temple earlier. The girls wanted to send me off, you know.” _

 

_ “Ah. Of course. Still--” _

 

_ “It’s all right, Daichi. Truly.” _

 

_ She flushed then, smile softening at the edges. “Do you… do you think we could kiss again?” _

 

_ And Daichi… what could he say but yes? _

 

/////

 

Daichi let Suga lead him through the throngs of people, wondering just where they were going.

 

Daichi had decided not to pursue further studies after all, and after letting Yaku know, they discussed what sort of work he could get to help carry his weight in the house.

 

While all three of the men who actually owned the place said putting them up for a while was no trouble, Daichi knew well enough that three extra mouths could cause a big strain, and he didn't want to take advantage of their kindness for too long.

 

Earlier this morning, Suga had gotten a text from a friend who apparently needed help-- and Suga had jumped at the chance to recommend Daichi. So that was where they were heading to now, but Suga had neglected to explain just what kind of job he’d be doing, so he had no clue what to expect.

 

The streets here weren't too crowded at this time of day-- for Tokyo, anyway (or so Daichi had been told). That meant that the crowd felt less like a horde of demons you had to battle your way through and more like a regular throng of people, really. They came to a little shopping center filled with mostly restaurants and cafés alongside a few boutiques and even a little market.

 

Ah. A service job maybe? Daichi could do that… probably. Hopefully there wouldn't be too much new-fangled technology to handle.

 

They came to stop under a black awning with the words, ‘Branwen’s Bistro’ printed on it in looping, elegant script. Daichi took in the storefront-- there were three outdoor tables, all under the wide canopy. They each held a little glass garden lantern with a candle in it (unlit, in the daytime) and a plain white ashtray with the silhouette of a bird in flight printed on the bottom. There were tiny lights strung up across the awning, and Daichi was sure they made a pretty sight in the evening, all lit up like trails of stars.

 

There was a solid wooden door, painted a deep black to match the canopy, with a sign pegged on it that read, ‘open’. On either side of it, there were two huge glass windows, composed of several little rectangles of glass. Inside, Daichi was able to glimpse small, cushioned benches just on the other side of the glass, and a few wooden tables inside, all a rich shade of brown and varnished to shine.

 

“What are you standing around for Daichi?” Suga asked, nudging him with his elbow. “Go on in!”

 

Daichi took in a deep breath, then let it out slow-- with it, he exhaled his apprehension, his nerves. His next inhale would bring calm, focus. He could do this.

 

“Right,” he said, pushing the door open. Above him, a bell tinkled softly, announcing his arrival.

 

This was swiftly followed by Suga’s own announcement. “Asaaaaahiiiiii! We’re here!”

 

“SUGA-SANNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!” Before Daichi could even think to be shocked at the immediate (and much louder) holler that answered Suga’s, someone (something?) zipped out of the kitchen, leapt over the bar, and tackled Suga in a hug.

 

Daichi blinked. The man was short, surprisingly, at least half a foot shorter than Daichi himself. His hair was spiked up wildly-- all but a single pale lock  of hair that hung in the center of his forehead.

 

“Nishinoya!” Suga cheered, apparently unconcerned about the impact he’d taken. How he hadn't been knocked over, Daichi didn't know, but he assumed it had been expected…? Probably…?

 

Then again, that Nishinoya must have been fairly light…

 

But then… that had also looked like it had a lot of force to it.

 

As if he could sense that Daichi was thinking about him, Nishinoya whirled to face him, eyes wide and…  _ intense _ was the only word Daichi could think of to describe it.

 

He stared at Daichi for a long, long moment. It certainly put him on edge-- what was the other man thinking? What had Suga told him?

 

And then he grinned, and Daichi felt himself relax a little. “You’re the new guy, right? Sawamura-san?” His smile was bright and warm. Friendly. “I'm Nishinoya Yuu! I’ll be one of your bosses!” A pause. “If Asahi likes you, that is.”

 

“Ah.” Daichi dipped his head in a slight bow. “It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Daichi, if you’d like.”

 

“Nice to meet’cha too, Daichi-san!”

 

Suga smiled then, waving a hand in dismissal. “Oh, Asahi should be  _ fine _ . Daichi's a real sweetheart.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Speaking of our gentle giant, where is he?”

 

“In the back! Some of our ingredients just arrived, so he’s sorting them out.” Nishinoya hopped over the counter again (wow, he really liked jumping, huh?) And stuck his head in through the kitchen door. “Asa! Get out here!”

 

There was a muffled response, and then a soft thump of something being set down. A moment later, Nishinoya came back over to where Suga and Daichi were standing, another man in tow.

 

He was tall, probably around six feet, with broad shoulders and a thick build. His hair was long, pulled back in a bun behind his head and a rich shade of brown. His jaw was sharp, with a little bit of scruff on the chin.

 

He was, quite frankly, very intimidating.

 

And then he said, “Ah, uh, hello there, Sawamura-san, I presume?” His voice was surprisingly soft, almost hesitant. His smile was equally gentle.

 

One of those cases then… that the outside belied the spirit inside. Daichi could understand that. He bowed again. “You must be Azumane Asahi? Suga’s talked a bit about you. It's nice to meet you.”

 

“Yes… I'm Asahi… though I don't quite trust Suga to have told you entirely good things about me-- ouch! Suga!” The last was because Suga, apparently offended by the insinuation (although, in this case Daichi found himself sympathizing with Azumane-- Suga had a pretty wide mischievous streak, after all), had whacked him soundly in the stomach.

 

Nishinoya laughed. “Aw, Suga-san isn't that bad! And you're strong Asa, that shouldn't have hurt!”

 

“Suga’s stronger than he looks!” Azumane protested, feebly. He sighed when Suga and Nishinoya only laughed louder. “Well, anyway, Sawamura-san--”

 

“Oh! Uh, Daichi is just fine.”

 

Azumane smiled again, kind and sweet. “Daichi, then. Shall we discuss the work?” 

 

At Daichi’s nod, Azumane began explaining how the restaurant typically ran-- Azumane stayed in the back to cook and fix drinks, while Nishinoya handled orders and service. They took turns on cleanup duty at the end of the work day, and took lunch breaks around three. There were no other workers. 

 

“It used to be alright, that way,” Azumane said, raising his hands to undo and redo his bun. It seemed to Daichi that this was more an action to give his hands something to do rather than something necessary, but he refrained from commenting on it. “Noya works hard and moves fast, and our customers have always been patient with us. I do my best to come out and help as well, when things are busy.”

 

“But lately!” Nishinoya piped in, “Lately we’ve been getting a bigger crowd! I think we're finally making a name for ourselves!”

 

Suga added, “Noya’s a reliable guy, with amazing reflexes and stamina, but even he’s starting to get swamped. That's what you're here for, Daichi!” He thumped the starboy on the shoulder, grinning.

 

“I see… I should warn you though, I'm not very accustomed to modern technology, so I think I could only be of use with the manual labor. I don't do well with numbers and the like either.”

 

Azumane shook his head. “Oh no, that's fine. We like our stuff old fashioned-- the most high tech thing we have is the cash register, and… Noya handles that.”

 

Nishinoya hopped up onto a nearby table, prompting Azumane to frown and fuss until he dropped back off. “Anyway,” he said, “It’s basic addition and subtraction mostly. You can probably handle that!”

 

Well, that was true, basic arithmetic was still in doable territory, but… Daichi hoped they’d be patient if he did make mistakes.

 

“So it's settled then!” Suga clapped Daichi’s shoulder, and Daichi winced at the force of it-- he understood why Azumane had complained, to say the least. “You can start out tomorrow and if things go well you can keep working here!”

 

Azumane raised an eyebrow. “You’d think  _ you  _ owned this bar, Suga.”

 

“You were gonna say that anyway! Weren't you?”

 

“Well yeah, but…”

 

Azumane and Suga began to bicker, and Daichi considered whether or not he ought to rein in the latter-- when Nishinoya caught his eye and jerked his head towards the kitchen, looking far more serious than he had been most of the conversation.

 

Daichi felt like a deer caught in a hunter's snare, all of a sudden.

 

He swallowed and nodded, and he followed the shorter man into the kitchen without a word. Neither of the other two noticed them go.

 

“Is something the matter, Nishinoya-san?”

 

“Just Noya,” Nishinoya said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I don't really like honorifics most of the time. Anyway, I think you're older than me.”

 

_ He doesn't know how right he is _ , Daichi thought wryly.

 

“Ah.” Daichi doubted this was what he’d been called aside for, but he nodded and said, “Noya, then. What is it?”

 

Nishinoya reached up into a cupboard and pulled out two glasses, filling them from the tap. He offered one to Daichi, who accepted it and took a few polite sips as Nishinoya went on. “Well, I think you could tell, but Asahi has a heart of glass; for all that he looks like a thug to most people, he’s the opposite really.”

 

Daichi nodded. Azumane had seemed very kind and almost fragile, yes.

 

“It doesn't get to him as much as it did back in high school, but he's very easily… cowed is the right word isn't it?”

 

Again, Daichi nodded.

 

“Yeah, okay, so he can be cut down really easily, and-- I guess I just wanted to say that you’d better not take advantage of it to bully him or-- I don't know, anything like that.” Nishinoya took a long drink from his glass, then set it down, half-empty in the sink. The clink of it against the metal felt like a period. The look on Nishinoya’s face brooked no contradiction, eyes and mouth serious instead of full of laughter the way they had been just a while ago.

 

Even if Daichi had harbored thoughts about doing that-- which he hadn't-- this confrontation alone would have dissuaded him. He had no doubts that Nishinoya would do anything to protect Azumane, even if that meant something as gruesome as killing Daichi in a back alley and leaving him to rot.

 

Still, Daichi said, “I would never. He seems like a good man.” He injected as much steel as he could into the statement.

 

Nishinoya eyed him for a long moment. Daichi held his gaze.

 

“Good.” The tension in the room evaporated just like that, escaped the instant that single syllable fell from Nishinoya’s now smiling lips. “I mean, you can pick on him a  _ bit  _ when you're closer with him. He doesn't mind it from friends and people he knows don't mean it. I’d ask you to wait, though.”

 

“Ah, that won't be a problem at all,” Daichi replied. 

 

He finished his water and placed it in the sink as well, and then they headed for the door. Just as Nishinoya gripped the knob, he stopped. “Also! I don't know how much Suga told you, but Asahi and I are a couple. I know it bothers some people, so if that's a problem…” His eyes bored into him, and somehow, Daichi was certain that, for all the chocolate-y warmth of them, he would drown in the cold abyss of his gaze if he stared too long.

 

Daichi shook his head before Nishinoya could even finish speaking. “It isn't. I had plenty of friends who were of that preference. Some of whom suffered for it. I have no issue with it, and I’m glad you're comfortable enough to be together in the open.”

 

Nishinoya blinked. “Well,” he said finally. “Not all the way in the open. But that's good to know. Let's go then.”

 

/////

 

When they emerged, Suga and Azumane were sitting quietly, waiting.

 

Daichi sort of felt like he’d been caught by his parents after doing something he shouldn't have-- which was odd, considering Daichi hadn't known his parents for long to begin with.

 

“What were you two up to?” Suga asked, raising his eyebrows. “We looked up and suddenly you were both gone.”

 

“Ah…”

 

“Daichi-san needed a drink! Didn't you hear him ask me for one?” Nishinoya answered easily, beaming as he clapped Daichi on the shoulder.

 

Daichi smiled. “Yes, exactly,” he said, glad that Nishinoya had saved him from answering. He had never been good at lying.

 

Suga looked disbelieving, if the glint in his eyes was any indicator, but he shrugged. 

 

Azumane, meanwhile, only smiled back. “Ah, okay. That's no problem. Sorry to make you do it, Noya.”

 

“It’s no problem, Asa!”

 

Azumane stood, and Suga followed, both tucking their chairs back under the table. They started towards the door, and Nishinoya leapt after them. Daichi assumed that meant it was time for him to leave, so he joined them.

 

Azumane pulled the door open and held it, and urged the others out lest the cold seep inside to the café proper. “It was nice to meet you, Daichi,” he said, with a soft grin. “I'll talk to Noya about the schedule and text Suga to let you know-- though I hope you can get a phone of your own soon. It’ll be a little difficult later on if you don't.”

 

Daichi nodded. Suga had mentioned something of the sort, and he did believe…

 

Right on cue, Suga replied, “We’re going to try and get him one today!” He hugged Nishinoya tight enough to make the other grunt (although he seemed to be hugging Suga back just as tight). “Just let us know, okay?”

 

“It was good to meet you, Azumane-san,” Daichi said.

 

“A-- Asahi is okay,” Azumane hurried to correct him. “I’d feel weird if I called you by your first name and you didn't do the same for me.”

 

Daichi smiled. “Right. Of course. Thank you Asahi-san.”

 

Azumane blinked, and looked ready to protest the honorific, but in the end, he sighed.”That's okay for now, I guess.”

 

Suga waved again, and then without further ado, he linked his arm with Daichi’s and started leading him onward.

 

/////

 

They ran a few more errands after that. Suga bought Daichi a sim card for an old phone he had at home-- it wasn't as basic as Daichi wanted, but Daichi would rather figure it out than force Suga to spend money he didn't really have.

 

They bought a few more groceries-- things like toilet paper and ingredients for cooking that they were running low on. Some other cleaning supplies too.

 

Daichi insisted on carrying most of the bags, and though it took a bit of a squabble, Suga gave in with a laugh and a sigh, choosing instead to tease Daichi a little-- cooing at him for being ‘so strong and manly, he’d swoon’ and the like. Daichi just shook his head.

 

He still didn't know why Suga flirted with him so much, or how much of it was serious. He supposed it was a small mercy that Suga never pressed him to return the affections, nor to give any response other than what he readily offered.

 

“Ooh! Daichi, the cakes at this place are sooo good!” Suga said, dragging on Daichi’s arm so he was forced to slow to a stop. A disgruntled pedestrian behind them grumbled-- “Sorry--” Suga called out, dipping his head in a quick bow-- and then he went on, “We should get a cake to take home and share!”

 

Before Daichi could so much as answer, Suga dragged him inside, the tinkle of a bell above them announcing their entry. A cheerful voice greeted them from the counter, promising to be with them in a second. Daichi drifted over to the glass display to look-- the cakes were small, but artfully decorated-- some with the likings of flowers and leaves, others in abstract patterns, or with sliced fruits. He saw some drizzled in sweet honey and syrup, with words written in elegant, looping script. They certainly  _ looked  _ tasty.

 

Suga sidled up to Daichi, giving the case a cursory glance before turning to the starboy. “Which one should we get?”

 

Daichi shrugged. “I don't know.”

 

“Well, which one do you think you’d like to try?”

 

Daichi hummed, mulling over his options. He wasn't particularly fond of chocolate… coffee, he wasn't yet accustomed to the taste. “Matcha seems good.” By that, Daichi meant familiar enough that it wasn't likely it would go to waste, but also new enough an experience that he could enjoy it. A win-win scenario.

 

Suga smiled brightly, eyes crinkling at the edges. “That sounds perfect. I'll get us a few slices of that, then. Want anything else?” He gestured to the display case. “The stuff here is pretty reasonably priced, and anyway I have enough savings that this really isn't a problem,” he went on, as if he could apparently read Daichi’s anxieties in the air like they were printed there in fresh, vivid ink. “We can afford a few luxuries like this, and anyway, we deserve it.”

 

Daichi scanned the display case again, particularly the portion that held smaller pastries and breads. “That looks good,” he said, pointing at what the sign declared an apple tart.

 

“Ooh, that  _ is  _ good.” Suga nodded. “I’ve had it before. We can get a bunch of different tarts-- any other ones you wanna try?” He paused. “I think I’ll get us a matcha one too. You’ll like that one.”

 

Daichi considered the other options. “Maybe the cheese tart? Or the egg tart?” he suggested. 

 

“Yeah, okay.” Suga got into the line proper to order and pay, patting Daichi’s shoulder in what Daichi assumed was a silent signal to stay put. He didn't mind; it was nice just looking at the cakes and the craftsmanship of them, and he like seeing how the traditional treats he knew were incorporated into the modern day desserts-- or, occasionally, completely missing from them.

 

It was odd, how familiar and yet strange Japan was to him now. One would think that it would be unrecognizable, and in many ways it was-- but there were plenty of places where Daichi could almost taste the world he’d left behind so long ago, structures and tastes and scents that echoed so perfectly those he had known.

 

Suga finished at the counter and nudged Daichi in the side with his elbow. Daichi straightened up. “Ready to go, Daichi?”

 

“Sure.”

 

/////

 

“Lev, put me  _ down _ !” Yaku screeched, hands flailing for some sort of grip to balance himself from where their resident giant had, for whatever reason, assumed Yaku’s complaint about high cupboards was equivalent to a request to be carried.

 

“Should I… should I say something?” Daichi mumbled to Suga, who was currently staring and doing nothing but barely fighting back a laugh.

 

“It’s fine,” Suga said.

 

… It was not fine, Daichi decided. Yaku was only growing more agitated by the minute, and Lev refused to set him down-- claiming a variety of reasons like ‘Yaku-san, you're moving too much, you’ll get hurt if I let go,’ and, ‘If you won't let  _ me  _ get the plates I can just help you!’

 

“Lev!” Daichi barked finally. Both Yaku and Lev froze, startled. Daichi registered, faintly, that they had never witnessed him raise his voice before. He ignored Suga’s complaint about being no fun-- they absolutely had enough chaos in this house without letting this devolve any further. “Put him down, please.”

 

“But Daichi-san--”

 

Daichi smiled-- the one he had always used on the twins when he was upset and trying not to show it. It was scary, he knew; vaguely threatening, even. “ _ Now _ , Lev.”

 

Lev pouted, but he did obey, so that was good at least. “Sorry.”

 

Yaku sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. “It’s fine. Go grab me the stepladder instead? Please.”

 

Daichi’s grin softened as Lev perked right up at that, immediately bounding off to do as he was told. “For all that you complain about him, you know exactly how to handle him, don't you?”

 

“Not very hard to, when he’s such a simpleton,” grumbled Yaku. After a moment’s pause, he went on, “He’s not a bad kid. He wants to help, but… why did he have to  _ carry me  _ to do it?”

 

Daichi chuckled. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

 

Lev returned, then, setting down the stepladder for Yaku to use and standing to the side like a puppy waiting for its next command-- it was adorable, admittedly.

 

“You’re pretty good at giving orders and stuff, huh?” Suga said, coming up behind Daichi. “Maybe--”

 

“Don't finish that line, please,” came Kenma’s complaint, muffled by what turned out to be Kuroo’s back.

 

Daichi raised a brow.

 

“He got tired on the walk home,” Kuroo explained, rolling his eyes. “Can I put you down  _ now _ , you overgrown child?”

 

“Fine.”

 

Kuroo set Kenma back on his feet, and plopped right down on the sofa, face smushed into the cushion. “I'm exhausted. Goodnight.”

 

Kuroo made a noise of frustration and went to coax Kenma into a shower, at least, or just have  _ dinner first _ , damn it, Kenma--

 

And Daichi… Daichi had never known anyone even remotely like these men, not until two weeks ago-- but he somehow saw glimpses of Yui’s smile in Lev’s earnest grin, almost broader than his face was wide; he saw Ikejiri’s gentle caring in Kuroo’s quiet acquiescence to Kenma’s demands…

 

He laughed quietly.

 

“What’s so funny?” Suga asked.

 

“Ah, nothing. I was just thinking… it may be too early for me to say so, but you all… we all feel a bit like a family already,” Daichi murmured back.

 

“Ah.” Suga seemed to turn that over in his head for a bit. “I suppose we do, don't we,” he mused, leaning on Daichi’s shoulder. Daichi briefly entertained thoughts of shrugging him off, but aside from knowing that Suga would only do it again, he also… didn’t really mind. If anything, it was almost pleasant. 

 

Suga’s nose wrinkled. “I almost feel like a parent.”

 

Daichi sputtered out another laugh.

 

“I do! Don't you?”

 

Daichi sighed. “Somewhat, yes.”

 

Suga opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it again. Finally, he admitted, “I was about to say I’m not ready to be a parent, but I don't think I mind looking after these losers.”

 

Daichi barked out a laugh. Truth be told… he didn't mind much either.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> That’s a wrap for the first chapter!!! What did you all think? Next it's time to take a look at Kuroo, his past and his present, and maybe a glimpse the other ships through his eyes as well. In case you missed my very heavy hints, there will be some angst in this fic, but also a lottt of fluff in between. I hope I can do it well and that you’ll enjoy it!!!
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, Oikawa totally texted Sugawara furiously while Iwa changed into the bigger shirt, bc damn if he wasn't thirsty after that.)
> 
> Hmu on tumblr and twitter @ theauthorish !


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